


Into the Darkness and Out of the Light

by aprettysmalldose



Series: Hyperion [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Anal Sex, Childhood Trauma, Consensual, Consensual Kink, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mecha, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, War, Zombies, biochemical warfare, braid abuse, contagion, gratuitous nerd references, mutations, religious homophobia, viral outbreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprettysmalldose/pseuds/aprettysmalldose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duo Maxwell has had better days.  Years, come to think of it.  Probably better lifetimes too because this one sure ain't a shining example of the stellar.  But it could be worse.  He's got a Gundam to pilot, gets to blow stuff up every day, and routinely does not have to pay bills.  Even has a team (sort of) to pitch in with the dirty work.  The bad guys are bad, the good guys are good, and he hasn't died a virgin.  Yet.  There are no dark undercurrents, no deadly complications, just good, old fashioned Gundams vs. Oz for the maidenly honor of the colonies.  Everything is what it seems to be.  </p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breath and Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of IDOL was written in the springtime of my youth when I was bright-eyed, bushy tailed and probably not that great a writer. I was 15 and stupid. Hopefully I have overcome most of those hurdles, and am able to give to you a chapter one that doesn't completely suck and that I can promise gets better. 
> 
> An eternity of most happle gratitude to groovymuttations, the veritable Queen of Betafish, through which all things are possible. Blasphemy intended. I loff u bebe~! 
> 
> I feel I should say here that my ultimate goal in writing this story is to take over the world via the Awesome Train that is Duo Maxwell. ALL SHALL LOVE HIM AND OBEY!
> 
> Now that I am all done sounding like the failboat that I am, on to the chapter!

**IDOL**

Into the Darkness and Out of the Light

I

**Breath and Shadow**

 

 

_A human being is only breath and shadow._

_Sophocles_

 

 

The book I fling flies through the air and hits the wall. It falls to the floor to lie there amongst the rest of the chaos.

 

“Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?” I can’t stand this apartment, this city, and most of all, this part of the ‘mission.’ I HATE doing nothing, otherwise known as waiting. It’s boring, and I don’t do boring (or bored for that matter). Hence, we have me going spastic in my hole-in-the-wall room. Oh, I’m sorry. My hole-in-the-wall SPACE, masquerading as a closet that’s only PRETENDING to be a room. Yeah, small spaces and I don’t go well together.

 

If I could just find it, then I could go into the (marginally) larger (but hey bigger is bigger, no matter how small the difference) living room. I growl angrily, and my look promises pain to whatever inanimate object gets in my way next. I can’t prove it, of course, but I’m almost positive that the wall I’m staring at now has sucked it up into oblivion.

 

“Why does this only happen to me?” And thus I am reduced to whining, a sure sign I’ll never find what I’ve been looking for. I’ve wasted 45 minutes of my life trying to find this stupid thing.

 

“Why does it only happen to you? Maybe because you are the only one who insists on living in a room that looks as if a bomb has been set off. And you’re the one who set it in the first place.”

 

“Knock, Chang, knock!” I snarl. I stalk, okay wade…okay, fine, STUMBLE through the sea of said junk to the door and push Wufei, who’s causally lounging against the doorframe, out of the way and slam the door. Or I would have slammed the door, but it got stuck on a pile of clothes. I grumble a constant stream of curses under my breath as I kick the offending pile out of the way and THEN slam the door. I then resume my stare down with the wall, and hear Quatre come up outside the now closed door.

 

“What is the matter?”

 

“The packrat can’t find what he’s looking for.”

 

“What _is_ he looking for?” There is a pause and I can practically feel Wufei shrug.

 

“Don’t know, don’t really care. You deal with him. Tell him to quiet down or I’ll use him as target practice for my Nataku.”

 

I make a face and can’t resist yelling, “Wufei, why don’t you just marry the damn thing already!”

 

“Gladly Maxwell, if only I get to use your dead carcass as a dowry present.”

 

Quatre murmurs something and I hear Wufei stalk off down to his closet, er room, and close the door with a sharp snick. Wufei is far too dignified and so very ‘adult’ to my ‘teenager’ to actually slam his door. Quatre sighs and asks, “Duo, would you like any help?”

 

“No thank you!” I say this with a cheerful tone, but a sharp edge creeps into my voice. That stupid wall is winning the staring contest. Go figure, huh?

 

“All right.” Quatre gives up and moves back into the kitchen, where he’ll probably continue sipping tea and reviewing OZ’s recent troop and supply movements through the L4 quadrant. I would be doing something close to that if I could just – find – the – laptop.

 

“Arrrggghhh!” I give a strangled yell, kick the nearest pile of junk, and flop backwards onto a cot, er, bed. Thwack! “OW!” I rub the back of my head. Laptop! Just underneath the lining of the mattress. I look at the wreck that used to be a room (sort of) with a floor. I laugh nervously and decide to pick it up later. I glare at the wall one last time and head toward the door and the living (dare I call it that) room. “Off the hook for now, pal,” I mutter to the wall as I leave. I nearly kill myself twice before I make it out. Strangled by a jacket and impaled by a pencil.  Not good ways to go.

 

I set myself up in the ‘living’ room (the only creatures that any decent inspection committee would authorize to ACTUALLY live here would be . . . wait . . . no, I’m happier not continuing that train of thought) and do my best to gain access to the stupid laptop it took me 45 minutes or so to find. That’s really pathetic Duo; that it took you that long to find considering the room is about the size of any OYSTER. I’ve been in worse places, but I can’t think of any right now. The only colors are brown and a drab off-white color. Also, everything appears to be crumbling. This place is in a constant state of crumble.

 

I poke at the laptop. Hm, playing hard to get are we? Ah, finally a challenge to throw off the monotony of my time here. I tilt my head back toward my room. There’s this weird scratching sound. Probably a cockroach. Probably in my room. Just great. I knew I shouldn’t have left that package of chips in there. Ah, the curse of the bored and therefore lazy. A soft warning tone alerts me to the fact that I really need to pay attention to what I’m doing or I’ll never get anywhere with this thing. The next few minutes are full of excitement and danger and then without warning, victory! Yay! Duo wins! Access to the laptop is mine!

 

Great! Now what was I planning on doing with it again? Wufei’s door opens and he moves toward the bathroom. Hmm. My attention is half and half. What was I actually going to do with the laptop now that I own its’ evil little soul, and what should I be remembering about the bathroom? Wufei shuts the bathroom door.

 

Oh well, whatever it was, too late now. I shrug and turn back to the laptop. There’s a thump and kind of a ‘smack’ (you know, the sound a body makes when it hits cheap-ass linoleum?) from the bathroom. There is also a sound that I didn’t think it was possible to hear from Wufei, an un-manly girly-type shriek. Oh yeah, now I remember! When I took my shower earlier, I got water all over the floor. All over everything really. Soapy water too, I recall. Oops. It occurs to me now that I never did get back in there to make it safe for the next dude. I wince. Maybe it will be nobody’s fault?

 

There is something not unlike the roar of a male African lion from the bathroom and then the door flies open. I slouch down on the couch. Oh, crap. “Quatre!” I was planning on that being my death scream, but it only came out as a squeak. Great. Duo: dead meat, and he can’t even get one good death shriek in. This sucks. Must do better next time.

 

I don’t have time to reflect on the fact that the whole point death shrieks is that you only get one, when Wufei, somewhat less dry than I’d seen him a moment ago and (to my everlasting delight) disheveled, spots me trying (unsuccessfully, obviously) to hide on the couch. A horrifying look of understanding and realization appears on his face. “Maxwell,” he says in a soft monotone that speaks layers of my life expectancy.

 

I give a go at innocence just for kicks, and practice and ‘cause I’m me and awesome that way. “Yes, Wufei?” I inquire with an air someone else might use to ask, ‘I’m sorry, do you have any grey poupon?’ I am then unable to resist myself and I bat my eyelashes at him. He snarls at me and stalks forward. Oh, well, goodbye world.

 

Quatre comes in. “ _Now_ what is it?” As Wufei starts his rant, I sigh with relief. Hello world. Thank you Quatre. The longer he rants, the less likely it is that he’ll actually get around to ending me. Five minutes later, (if I had to guess, about halfway through Wufei’s rant), incoming message/mission updates tones ring out from various places in the apartment. Both Quatre and Wufei turn and look at me expectantly. I sit up from my ‘I am jelly and therefore of no notice and not worth death’ position on the couch and delve into the twisted circuits of a most twisted machine. I take a minute to check that I decoded the message right, and the laptop is not about to self destruct in my face and say, “It’s from 03 and 01. Mission successful and they’re on their way back. They should be here in about two hours.”

 

“Tian shiao de, Yuy can handle that thing!” Wufei snarls and stalks regally back to his room and firmly, (still not slamming), shuts the door.

 

Quatre favors me with a weary look.

 

“What?”

 

Quatre rolls his eyes and goes back into the kitchen.

 

“I don’t see why I always get blamed,” I say self-righteously. But I get up and de-hazard-ize the bathroom. Better late then never, right?

 

 

 

*********************************************IDOL*********************************************

 

 

 

Two hours later I have created several nasty viral programs that I hope I will get to personally introduce to OZ later this week. I have also created a cute little program that will someday bring up little cute Duos with giant heads (i.e. chibis!) all over the screen at a random date and time. These darling mini-mes will dance and sing and remind the user constantly (or until they find and eradicate the program) of the eternal wonder and mystery that is myself. What can I say? I like to live dangerously.

 

I lean back with a satisfied sigh and cross my arms behind my head. I have officially entered the danger zone. I’m about a minute or so from boredom, which could potentially be hazardous to my health. At this point in time Wufei’s _looking_ for an excuse to kill me. There’s a rattling sound to the right of me as the front door is swiftly unlocked from the outside. I casually stretch out, putting my feet up on the table, blocking the laptop from view. The door opens, and Trowa and Heero walk in, close and lock the door and then disappear into their rooms. Okay, let me rephrase that. Since Trowa’s room is actually the living room and I happen to be sitting on his “bed” he walks into the kitchen. Heero goes into my room, which is technically _our_ room.

 

Oh shit. My fingers fly over the keyboard and the next few seconds are as charged as if I’m typing for my life. Oh wait. And then, in an outrush of breath that I’d been holding, the laptop shuts down and I close the lid and fling myself back from it. I know nothing! I did nothing! I’m innocent your honor, I swear! No, no sir, that is not a knife dripping with blood I’m holding and a smoking gun? Pshaw. Forensics can’t prove a thing!

 

Then I wince as I remember the state I left our room in. Current events may have no bearing on Heero killing me or not. He may take issue with not being able to see the floor. It couldn’t piss him off that much, right? I mean, I wasn’t even trying—the wreck of our room is an accident in Duo’s Grand Scheme of Things! It doesn’t count! I was framed! Heero walks out of our room and fixes me with an icy stare. It would appear that I am to be hung; for the crime I did commit or (blast and damnation!) the one I didn’t. Curses, foiled again. I try to forestall the inevitable with a little appeasement. “Ah, Heero, man, I’m sorry, I’ll fix it.” I start to pry myself out of the black hole also known as the couch, or Trowa’s bed. Heero stalks forward. It occurs to me that I will probably never see anything as terrifying as that again. Unless he does that in his Gundam.

 

“Maxwell.” Oh, _damn_. That was a last name. Heero looks pissed. I mean, well, he always looks slightly pissed off, you know? So serious. But this is like Mr. Heero-I’m-über-pissed-off-and-I-really-AM-going-to-kill-you-Yuy. But which reason is the reason? I wait with baited breath.

 

Heero stops about two centimeters in front of my face. “Maxwell,” he says again but softer and with more deadly meaning.

 

“Yes?” It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to shriek or hide gibbering under the couch, er, Trowa’s bed. I know nothing. I am a mote floating on the waves of the universe. I am a leaf on the wind. No wrongdoing here, nuh-uh.

 

“What. Are you doing. With. My. _Laptop_?” he grits out. I gape at him. Door number 1! The crime I did commit but am going to do my damndest not to go down for. It’s somewhat difficult to contain my glee, but I manage with the help of the air of omnipresent DOOM that lurks over me in the form of Heero’s glare.

 

“Your laptop?!”

 

“Yes Maxwell,” he says, “my laptop.” Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I would like to turn your attention to Exhibit A: An Honest Mistake. I take a careful look at the laptop. I reach down and lift up the lid just high enough to peek under. “Eh heh heh. Heh.” I let the lid drop back down. I laugh rather squeakily. “Would ya look at that!” I edge sideways away from Heero putting my hands up in the air. As you can all see, I didn’t do it. “Who knew?” I ready myself to get down on both knees and beg. It could go my way, or the way of certain death. However, he seems less inclined to kill me now that he knows it’s just an “honest mistake” (wink wink). I’m innocent, your honor! Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

 

He gives the laptop a quick once over and looks sharply back at me. “What needs fixing?”

 

“Ah, the room?”

 

He gives me a long, hard look, then picks up the laptop and moves into the kitchen and out of sight. I sigh in relief and go to start the monumental task of cleaning the room. Heh heh, unless the prosecution can produce some damning piece of evidence Your Honor, looks like this case is about wrapped up. Cleared on all charges! Hoo, my knees are all weak. I shake my head at myself. One of these days I’ll have the time, money, willpower, and the absence of an OZ price on my head to get a shrink to tell me exactly why I do these things to myself. Before I go into my room I yell towards the kitchen, “Trowa, you can have your room back now!” And then in the general direction of Wufei/Quatre’s room, “Wufei, man, I cleaned up the bathroom for you!”

 

My slamming the door cuts off any statement anyone made or would have made. I don’t shut doors, I slam them. It’s a me thing. I’m making a statement. I’m here. Rawr. Hear the door slam of my existence. I can feel a wide shit-eating grin spread across my face as I lean up against the door. Smug too. I iz a kitteh that ate a canary. Smirk. Smirkity smirk smirk smirk. Wow, I am in such a good mood. I may actually clean now. Heh. I’m so pleased with me. I really do need to clean too. Wufei’s packrat comment aside, I have too much crap and it’s time to get back down to the essentials. I’m not usually in any one place long enough to hoard, but these last few weeks I’ve been forced to reveal my bag lady nature because I’m stuck here in this stupid apartment. Missionless. Sans mission. Everyone else gets to jet off and fork around with Oz but not me. I know we can’t be here much longer, so it’s time to preemptively pack. (Or if you’re me, throw out everything you don’t feel like lugging with you.)

 

Around two hours later—actually, I have no idea how long, there’s no clock in here, so I just made that first bit up—anyway, the point is that I finished after a lengthy amount of time. It was a fierce battle. And I’ll be damned if that pencil didn’t almost take my life there in the beginning. (Somehow, I speared myself on the ass with it.) But I won. Bwahahahaha! Duo Maxwell, Victorious in All Things. I flop backwards onto (what I deem) a cotbed thing.

 

It’s been about a month, maybe longer, since the five of us Gundam Pilots all teamed up. We knew absolutely nothing about each other, and we were always supposed to be separate avenging angels but everyone knows plans last about .5 seconds after you start up in the field. So it’s been difficult. I mean, well—okay, it’s like this. Put five trigger happy twitchy teenage guys who happen to be super terrorists in a series of dingy apartments the size of a normal bedroom and shake well. BOOM, right?

 

And we’re not even talking about personalities yet. Duo, the wonderful, the magnificent, the Unending List of Virtues, usually quite good at reading people, gets more off about a person at a two minute encounter at a checkout then hours upon end with another of my, uh—team members. Right, Duo, let’s just stay diplomatic. Let’s go with what I know. By the way, it’s a depressingly small amount. That’s what being Duo the eternally curious gets you with these guys. Nada. And death threats. Actual performance of some of those threats. (*cough* Wufei *cough*)

 

Quatre is the one I have the most on. Mostly, he’s an open book. Quatre gets along with everyone. He’s really basically your average everyday nice guy—and you know what they say about those—but somehow he gets in his Gundam and causes just as much death and mayhem as the rest of us. Quatre, nice guy. On the surface at least. Also, he could start his own OZ if he really wanted to. Insanely large family and estate and corporation to which he is the sole heir. The makings of his own private army a la the Maganac Corp, who are also known as Team Quatre.  All right I made up the Team Quatre thing, but that doesn’t make it not true! And there’s something else about Quatre I’m starting to realize, and  how can I put this? Heero is to supercomputer as Quatre is to . . . chess master. I think some of my missions actually come from him. I was assigned a mission in Costa Rica once. Pretty simple. Check into research. If _not_ medical research as was claimed, stomp base into tiny pieces beneath Deathscythe’s feet. It had very specific parameters ,though, and some of those may have gotten, uh, _discarded_ at some point along the way. When I gave my mission report it received a ‘mission parameter re-write acceptable’ from Heero (which let me tell you, was a whole ‘nother mission death-brush right there.) Quatre was present at the time, too. HE just shook his head and rested it in his hand for a moment then said brightly, “Well, at least it got done.” Suspicious, no?

 

Trowa doesn’t say much. And he’s good at _not being there_ in so much as he kinda has an anti-presence thing going on. Calm, quiet, always watching, end of story. More later. Pending an actual conversation. Trowa doesn’t really do conversations. Le sigh.

 

Wufei. Wufei must have had that stick up his butt since birth. I mean, the guy SO can’t take a joke. Really. Seriously. Wufei bating. Hours of entertainment, right there. He really likes his Gundam. I mean, really. (Well, who doesn’t like their Gundam but my point is that Wufei takes THAT particular Gundam Pilot nuance to a whole new level.) And I’ll give this to him, he’s pretty freaking smart. Also, not much of a team player. I can’t figure out how Quatre got that bastion of ‘teamwork is for wussies’ and ‘real men go it alone’ to join up. (Somehow, I kinda feel like in the end Quatre isn’t too sure either.) I also covet his information network (it’s downright _insane_ what he knows sometimes), which he will NOT SHARE with ANYONE (and I am almost POSITIVE that Heero Yuy is covets it too, but is pretending like he doesn’t.)

 

And then that brings me to the aforementioned. Where do I start? Mr. Heero “the-perfect-soldier-indestructo boy-the-ice-man-cometh-don’t-touch-my-laptop-I-have-NO-sense-of-humor-Omae o Korosu-that means-I’ll kill you-DUO” Yuy. There’s more. I could go on. And on and on and on. Heero Yuy, the most interestingly frustrating person here—or _ever_. Thinking about Heero consumes a lot of my time. What will he do if I do this? Will he do anything? Why does he do that? Why _doesn’t_ he do that?

 

Quatre knocks on the door. “Duo, we’re having dinner.” Food! Good. Good food. Thinking about Heero Yuy is also about the most unproductive line on a very long agenda of unproductive things that I can be doing at any moment. You know why? ‘cause it gets you nowhere with a headache, that’s why.

 

Wufei passes by as I’m opening the door and says, “Why must we waste perfectly good food on _it_?” Oh, it’s _on_ now. I make a mental note to eat all of the food in front of Wufei first. I take a look at the kitchen. Trowa got the takeout. Again. It’s all spicy rice and meat and gumbo. The guy likes Cajun. I need to remember to add that to my running commentary. That might make his info worth two sentences! Five minutes later I’m scarfing down everything in sight. Spicy or not, I’m a growing shrimp, er, boy. I need more food than everyone else combined.

 

“Duo.”

 

“Hmm?” I bat my eyes at Heero. He ignores me, as usual. How he can manage to ignore me while he’s talking to me, I don’t know. One of these days I’m going to find the magic formula to make him show emotion. Other than anger. Or exasperation. Or annoyance. Or smug satisfaction. Or freaky maniacal euphoria. Ok, so maybe I just want him to show some happiness. Show Duo some LOVE! But until that oh-so happy time, my life expectancy is like, nil.

 

“Don’t touch my laptop.”

 

I grin at him cheerfully. “It was an accident. It’ll never happen again, I swear.” Really your honor, I swear on my own dear mama’s grave! No, my fingers are not crossed behind my back, they just naturally fold that way as we have this conversation. Heero Yuy, messing with you is messing with my own obituary date: will it be someday—or now? God, but the God of Death loves to feel alive. I can feel the disarming grin I’m flashing at him threatening to turn into my shit-eating ‘I done got away with somethin’ grin.

 

And then my eye catches Wufei as he pauses, then looks up from his rice. Slowly, a very unsettling expression appears on his face. It looks something like, ‘I have you now my pretty’ you know, give or take. He opens his mouth. I’m frozen in place by the enormity of my own calculated error. Damn! I’m too far away to stuff food in his mouth and/or choke him to death. “But Duo,” he says serenely, “you mean that laptop you were hacking into earlier wasn’t yours?” I glare a Glare of Death at him, but not being Heero, patent lord and master of death glares, it doesn’t work. “Remember?” he continues on, “I just thought you’d forgotten your own pass codes. That wasn’t _Heero’s_ laptop, was it?” Ouch. Textbook example of crash and burn, right there. Feast your eyes. 

 

I have completely forgotten to include Wufei, (i.e. character witnesses) in my council defense. Not the best plan, that. Shoddy work. I forgot that myself also likes to sabotage me. Well, your honor . . . ok, you got me. But, you wanted to believe I was innocent, right? That’s the important thing.

 

I turn my head to look  at Heero. I got my wish. That’s an emotion besides anger. He’s looking at me in stunned disbelief (well, stunned disbelief for Heero Yuy anyway). I can see him working it out. (And that little puzzle piece goes there, and 1 + 1 = …). It’s quite frightening actually. He stands up in a swift motion and slams his hands down on the table. And we’re back, to the anger.

 

“Maxwell!” Yeow! He yelled at me! I don’t see Heero fly across the table and grab me, but I sure feel it when he does. “Come on, Heero! Calm down!” I yell between him shaking me back and forth. Is joke! I make funny joke, I say! He just shakes me harder.

 

“Calm. Down? You want me to _calm_. _Down_?”  His eyes are burning into mine and there’s a furious light in them. I try not to think to hard about the fact that this outcome was more in my ‘let’s do this’ column then ‘you wouldn’t like this’ column. I have such issues. He twists his fist harder into the collar around my neck to where he’s practically dangling me off the ground. There’s a chiming noise and the chain of my cross breaks and slithers off my neck to fall on the kitchen floor. My eyes widen. Just as no one actually saw Heero come at me, no one sees the move I use on him. Only the aftermath is visible. Namely Heero flying back across the table and hitting the far wall. In one swift move I snatch my cross and chain off the floor and run out of the kitchen. I fling myself out of the apartment and slam (of course) the door behind me.

 

“Well, that went well, Duo,” I say bitterly to myself. “ _Now_ what are you going to do?” I slam through the double doors at the end of the hallway and start trotting at a very brisk pace (try breakneck) down the stairs. Who the hell decided we’d be best off on the fifth floor anyway? When I reach the foyer of our craphole apartment I shoot straight out of there and continue my very best not to actually run down the sidewalk and into the inner city. The sovereignty of Duo unlimited has placed a call in for a very long walk.

 

I, I have decided, am living a charmed life. I’m about 99.99% sure (which rounds up to a hundred don’tcha know) that The Very Second I set foot back in the apartment Heero will kill me. Yeah. That’s a certainty. Only variables will be the length of time before actual death. Does Heero do torture? Nah. Sounds like a Wufei thing. Of course, he could GIVE me to Wufei. Nope. Looks like my only chances of continuing survival are to seek refuge behind Quatre. If I have to, I’ll cower. Maybe. And the continuing worst part is, is that I bring it on myself I really do.

 

I could have found something else to do. I could have, I don’t know, NOT touched Heero Yuy’s most sacred of belongings. But damnits, hacking into Heero Yuy’s computer because it’s THERE is about as far away from boring as it is possible to get. I just couldn’t help myself. I can’t Pilot Deathscythe 24-7. There’s got to be some other excitement in my life! And it was possible to accomplish in a feasible time limit! You see, you just treat it with override mission protocols that all our hardware (minus Gundams which are really Gundamware heh) is installed with, in case of an emergency. Of course, you’re only supposed to receive those codes in an emergency but I may have acquired them somewhere somehow. The best thing about it is—Heero would have only ever known another user had accessed if he specifically went line by line in the code and checked for emergency log on _or_ the Chibi Duos kicked in. Whichever. But even Heero isn’t so anal as to constantly review his systems operations code. He only does that every other Thursday . I bet he’s gonna continuously monitor it now, though. I had plenty of time to be safely off on a mission—I have to get one sooner or later. You know, if Wufei had just kept his damn mouth shut, I would have gotten away with it too. So close! Urgh. Wufei emerging the victor from that one cancels out the Bathroom Debacle and makes us even once more. So in the Wufei subchapter of Duo vs. Life, plots must once again be hatched.

 

I’m deep in the city now. I decide to make a general loop and get some food. I mean, come on. I didn’t get to finish my nice Cajun takeout dinner, did I? And you know who plots well (like the demise of the dignity of Chang Wufei, among other things) on an empty stomach? No one. I pause and give an experimental sniff. Ahh. That smells good. Hamburgers. I pop into one of those cheapy restaurant joints you can always find in the downtown area of a city. Five minutes later dinner is served, and I take my food to go. Ah, grease, meat, and cheese. Food of the God of Death. I polish off my hamburger and wind my way through the city and eventually into suburbia. Joy.

 

Okay. Enough is enough. I’ve been walking for officially—via update from myself—a Long Time. The sun has set, the wind is cold and it’s you know, blowing. Coldly. Whatever country we’re in now, it gets cold fast. I forget, are we in Europe? I can’t remember ‘cause the last time I slept properly was probably about 4 time zones ago. I turn my feet reluctantly back to the apartment complex. I don’t really want to go back (I mean who would, ever, even at the best of times) but I really hate being cold. I HATE it. If I had calculated in that freezing my ass off my have been a possible outcome of my caper, that one would have definitely gone in the ‘deterrent’ column.

 

The only sounds on this street are the wind, the distant sounds of city cars, and my trudging feet. Yes, trudging. Commonly used when a person feels great aversion to the place they are trudging to. My trudging and my train of thought on trudging are rudely interrupted when I walk straight into a brick wall. Now how did that get there? Oh. My bad. Not a brick wall, Heero.

 

. . . eep.

 

That’s all my brain gives me to go on. Then I come back online with a ‘HEERO!’ sort of alarm. I gape at him in wordless horror. Shit. Well, if I gotta go out, then I’ll go out fighting. I back up into my customary fighting crouch. I try not to dwell on the fact that my chances of even injuring Heero are like, nonexistent. Wait, let me rephrase that. My chances of injuring Heero enough to stop him from injuring me are like, nonexistent.  Wufei?  Sure I could take Wufei, just gotta watch out for the big freaking sword that he actually knows how to use and avoid close quarters combat at all costs. Trowa, no prob. As a fellow twisty acrobatic person we’re of a level, I think. Quatre, get past his freaky accuracy with a gun that’s second only to Heero, and he’s a pushover. But Heero’s a human tank! A walking, talking, streamlined bona fide TANK that even anti-tank missiles are ineffective against—and I have seen these things with my own eyes!

 

Heero narrows his eyes dangerously and I tense up. Then he says, back to his usual monotone, “We have a mission. We move out in four hours.”

 

I, articulate as ever in these types of situations come up with, “Huh?” Heero turns sharply and begins walking off. What he said finally penetrates my brain. “Crap.” I move after him, matching his pace, yet still a comfortable, (not really), safe, (keep dreaming Duo), distance behind him. Okay. Let’s just say if he did decide to kill me, I’d be just far enough back to react about 1.2 seconds after I was dead. I think about this carefully and slow down. Now it’s .25 seconds. Better. I sigh. Life sucks. Oh well. I continue my trudging.

 

A shriek, piercing and inhuman splits the air. I freeze, and crouch down in the shadow of a bush. There’s no sign of Heero. What, did he freaking turn himself invisible? Wouldn’t put it past him, come to think of it. Heero version (insert most recent update available here) _would_ come with a cloaking device. And what the hell was that sound?! A few minutes later, when it doesn’t come again, I slide forward in the shadow of the bush, which turns out to be a hedge. Duo, stealth mode, version 5.0, updated just last week. Now the street is deadly (oh WONDERFUL word choice) silent. I grope for my gun uselessly for a few seconds before my brain catches on that it’s just not there. Naturally that’s when I remember that it’s sitting on my bed. Fuck. Combat knife it is then. I creep forward from the hedge shadow into a tree shadow and keep on creepin’ ‘til I’m crouched at the base of the tree.

 

It’s fully night now. The rising moon is somewhere near half full. It’s washed out by the glow of the city lights. And, if at all possible, it’s gotten even _colder_. I straighten up and put my back slowly against the tree, and look carefully back down the street. Still no sign of Heero. There’s a rustle in the branches of the tree above me. I freeze. There’s a soft . . . clacking sound. I frown. It’s probably Heero. Right? That’s why I can’t see him; he must be up in the fucking tree like a fucking monkey. I look up. The branches are shifting softly in the wind. There is no sign of anything. Great. Get a grip, Duo. I press my back more firmly to the tree. The street light closest to me, on the corner about twenty-five feet away, flickers and goes out. My eyes widen and my pupils dilate to adjust to the dark. The hell? The next street light, back down the road, flicks off. Where the HELL is Heero? The next street light, this one up the road goes out. What the fuck? Srsly? Is this seriously happening to me right now?

 

I slide back more towards the back of the tree and the dark house behind it. The row of houses on my side of the street is silent; empty. Across the street there’s a half-finished building, and man does that thing look creepy. Only one street light remains, all the way back down at the end of the road. It might as well be Mars for all the light it’s giving me. At least the city lights are still on, even light pollution is better than nothing. The only sound is the wind, now positively frigid, still softly rustling the leaves of the tree. Then the wind dies down. Silence. Dead silence. Oh your word selection continues but to AMAZE, Duo.

 

I’m trying to stay calm and still but now I feel like I’m trying to fight off hypothermia, and so I do my best to clamp down on the small tremors my body desperately wants to turn into full on shaking. I try my level best to become one with the tree. Who can say how successful I am at that? Heero? Anyone? The silence continues.

 

Ok, Duo, this isn’t right. Whatever THIS is, it shouldn’t be happening. The silence becomes a near-physical presence that wraps around me and weighs me down. My nerves are shot. I can’t take much more of this. Everything about this street feels wrong. I evaluate my situation to come up with a plan of action and come up with, the HELL with this. A street rat always knows when it’s time to go, and guess what? I’ve passed that time. This whole situation reeks of, ‘Die, Duo, die! Horribly, painfully, and SLOW.’ I lift my foot to take a step forward when the tree shakes violently above me. Oh, please be Heero. But I know it’s not. No way would Heero-I-am-flawless-fully-updated-beautiful-AND-soundless-Yuy EVER make that much noise.

 

Slowly, against my will, I look up. Damn! I STILL can’t see _anything_. I hear the clacking sound again, but it’s different somehow. Before it sounded like wood on wood, and Duo, the premiere master of repressing, shoved it away as tree branch noise.  What?  So SUE me all right? There’s no freaking wind through the trees on a colony in SPACE. It doesn’t sound like that this time. More like bone on bone. Don’t ask me how I know that, there’s a deep repression tank up and running in my mind for a reason. Whatever’s up there shifts, and it sounds like it’s to my left now. I still can’t see it but I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is indeed an ‘it’. I slide down into a defensive crouch, and step slowly and carefully away from the trunk of the tree. There’s no sign of anything. Where IS it? _What_ is it? I hear the clacking sound— _bone on bone—_ (thank you, Shinigami memories, now stfu) again. Holy shit! Now it’s back to being right on top of me. I grit my teeth and take another step back. I’m almost out from under the tree now.

 

It hisses. The sound itself is inherently evil, and it chills me even more than the cold night. I can’t stop the shudder that runs through my body, and once it starts I can’t stop from shaking all over. Whatever it is, it’s going to attack. I can feel danger and bloodlust in the air and _fuck my life_.

 

Come on, Duo! Think! I can’t think. Scenes of my gruesome death are floating through my mind. Duo Maxwell, terrorist extraordinaire, best bud of Deathscythe, elegant connoisseur of video games, and patron of comic books and manga everywhere. Able to eat anything and everything in sight and still go back for more. Seeker of that eternal elusive muse love . . . and also sex. 16 years old, cut down in his prime by an unseen clacking tree-thingy. There were no witnesses because his partner (wait for it) deserted him! The hissing noise returns, and rises in volume. I snap out of it, and brace myself to take the hit, since chances of my blocking the attack are slim to none, seeing as I still can’t SEE it. It should attack—

 

 _Now_.

 

There is the sharp report of a gunshot and the thing in the tree shrieks. It’s the same shriek that started this whole messy business. There’s a rushing sound, like flapping wings, more rattling from the tree, and the thing moves off into the night, just visible as a black mass against the city-muted light of the stars. The wind starts up again, slightly less cold, and rustles the leaves in a non-threatening way. The street lights flicker back on, one by one. I slowly come out of my crouch and with the exception of a shudder here and there, clamp down my full body hokey pokey act. I reach down and slide my combat knife back into its’ sheath in my left boot. When I straighten up, Heero is standing right next to me. I control my reflexes and manage not to jump and take a stab at him, but it’s a near thing. Can he please, just _once_ , make some noise? Of course, if he’d made a noise, I probably would have taken a stab at him anyway. Jumpy . . . in a word? Duo.

 

I wonder just exactly WHERE Heero holed himself up, but then decide I don’t care. I’m just happy he didn’t leave. “Thanks man, I owe you one.” I shake my head ruthful. “I never saw it, not once.”

 

Heero looks at me and says carefully, “Neither did I.”

 

I gape at him. “You mean—you—”

 

“When it started hissing, I knew about where it was.”

 

He was practically shooting blind, then! I shake my head again, this time in wonder. “Man, you really ARE perfect.”

 

He looks at me again, his expression unreadable. “Do you know what it was?”

 

 I shrug and hold up my hands helplessly. “Some kind of bird, maybe?”

 

He nods wordlessly and starts walking off. “Come on.”

 

I take one last look around, give myself a ‘shake it off Duo’ shake, and trot off to catch up with Heero. Heero must know something more than I do, because we don’t stay to investigate. And he’s not going to tell me anytime soon, so I don’t even try to drag it out of him now. Lately, I can’t even walk and think at the same time, so I doubt my ability to talk and walk as well. I look around. Nothing interesting. Uh-oh. Boring. Hmmm. Okay, I’ll pass the time by thinking about other things than how I SO almost got knocked off by some invisible bird.

 

What to think, what to think . . . Hey! Nicknames! It is definitely time to start tagging my roommates. Wufei is the easiest; I don’t even have to think about it. I’ll call him stickboy! He’ll probably think I’m referring to his sword and get all offended, but if he knew the real definition (stick up butt), he’d promptly decapitate me. So maybe not to his face but there’s only about 200 different ways you can bastardize the name ‘Wufei’. I mean come on, it starts with ‘wu’. I have to stifle a snicker. Trowa’s another no-brainer. I’ll call him Uni-bang. Because the bang is _uni_. HAR. Heero . . . hmm, something totally off the wall. Let’s see, something he’ll never have heard before, like one of those dorky names people in love call each other. Aha! Bonbon. Oh I like it! He’ll simply KILL me! I shove my evil laughter down and save it for later. Quatre, what to call Quatre? Sunshine, I think I’ll call him Sunshine because he’s just so bright and shiny! My glee is hard to contain. This is fun. Should I make up back up names?

 

I’m going strong with a running commentary of names to call the others when I walk straight into another brick wall. Actually, for a random brick wall, it feels kind of familiar. Maybe ‘cause it is not, in fact, a brick wall but again, Heero-I-must-make-no-sound-so-therefore-Duo-runs-into-me-and-I-make-him-look-like-an-idiot-Yuy.

 

“You wanna watch who you’re—” I trail off in the sight of Heero’s absolutely expressionless, yet somehow foreboding face. I have a go at staring him down, just for kicks, but give up. “So what’s up?”

 

“We’re here.”

 

“Where?” He turns away from me and goes inside the building we are stopped in front of, which just happens to be our apartment complex. “Would ya look at that?” I say, then shrug and go inside. We take the elevator up and the ride up is long. This thing was probably built pre-space flight era and may well be 100 years over its standard operating length and I am not thinking about that anymore no sir no more thinking about that. I am VERY uncertain of my position with Heero Yuy right now, so I am absolutely silent. Mostly. There may have been some humming but it was a self-defense mechanism and not a ‘I wonder if humming annoys Heero Yuy’ thing.  We finally reach our room, and Heero unlocks the door and stalks in, (quite gracefully, a most graceful stalk release him into the wild and he would have a dedicated cadre of observers).

 

“Where have you been?” Wufei demands upon our entrance.  Heero goes straight into the kitchen and presumably to his laptop. Which reminds me of how this whole mess got started. Then I wonder what on earth motivated Heero to come find me if it wasn’t to kill me. Oh yes, now I remember! The mission.

 

Wufei’s still standing there, waiting for an answer, so as I head into our room to get my little black bag full of goodies, I say, “Uh, where have we been? Hmm,” I pause and waggle my eyebrows at him. I don’t think he got the inference there so I give up and finish with, “bird watching.”

 

It takes me a minute to remember exactly _where_ I stashed my duffel, even though the room’s pretty much spotless now. Except for that roach in the corner . . .

 

ROACH!

 

My first reaction is one of girly ‘eeeeek yank up thy skirts and jump on the nearest chair to dancest around thou maidens!’, but I get over it quickly. There may not actually BE that many roaches on L2, (hence I’m not used to them), but rats, now that’s a different story. Roaches may be just gross, but rats are evil. Space roaches? Not exactly a plague of epic proportions, but space rats have been known to devour entire colonies. Roaches I can deal with, but rats? Mental shudder. I vow to NEVER leave food lying about again. I squash the roach and find my bag under Heero’s cotbed thingy. Why did I put it there? Honestly? Who knows. I take a quick peek-see and realize that I myself am down a laptop. I haven’t seen it in a while. Oh, well. Not like I use it anyway. Let Heero type away until judgment day. _I_ have shiny toys that do the same thing but look sexier. Note to self: tell Heero that someday, and observe reaction.

 

When I get back into the kitchen, deftly avoiding Wufei’s, “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Maxwell?” Heero is flipping rapidly through mission spec files on his laptop. I frown, evaluating my status, and I decide to sit down across the table from him. I put the duffle between us as a kind of barrier, and for me to use as a pillow. I stare at Heero then give up and close my eyes. He’ll brief me when he’s good and ready. I get more comfortable and to all other appearances, go to sleep. I am not, however, sleeping. I am thinking. I am thinking about Heero, and just how much he knows about creepy-bird-in-tree. I shift my head on my duffle. I’ve lost count of how many times this has been my only pillow. That brings me to thinking how enormously fucked-up my life is, and in how many different layers, too.

 

All I know is that when this war is over, I’m gonna need a whole lotta serious therapy. My ‘pillow’ is a bag full of detonators, explosive compounds, guns, knives, grenades, and all sorts of terroristic paraphernalia. I was orphaned at the young tender age of like, 0, (still not sure how old I actually AM), did the whole ‘street rat’ thing, and then found a home in an orphanage. Found God, then lost God, and so now I hang on to that memory with everything and I’m not quite sure if I still believe but there was a time when I had a home before it all got blown to bits, quite literally in a very gory sense. And that was back when I could still be considered ‘normal’. After a whacked-out series of events I turned browncoat.  Now when I sleep I dream of blood and ghosts and gunpowder, G9 and screams that echo long after I wake. Not to mention the position of best friend is currently filled by a 7 or 8 some odd ton mobile suit. Oh, and not just any mobile suit, but a _Gundam_.  He does practically everything but talk, and we’re still working on that.

 

Actually, I’ve been screwed over so many times, my thought process is relatively normal. Notice how we say _normal_. I’m all one person, don’t get me wrong! There’s just a lot of ME. There’s Duo the joker, who can’t ever shut up; then Duo the pretend normal teenager, for when posing as a normal teenager; Duo the relatively serious guy, for working on Gundams, wiring bombs, receiving missions etc.; and the real Duo, but there’s no use for him in a war. Then there’s – _Shinigami_ – who does the dirty work. We try not to let him out much. But it’s Shinigami who pilots Deathscythe. Shinigami who infiltrates bases. Shinigami who kills. And someday, I’ll level with the fact that I AM Shinigami, but until then, he’s a separate part of me.

 

I grin with my eyes closed. “I run, I hide, but I never lie. Ain’t that right, Deathscythe old buddy? Ain’t that right?” I mumble this under my breath keeping up the appearance of sleep. I have no idea if he knows or not, but it never hurts. Out of all of us, it would appear that I sleep the most, but I am a perfectly happy, completely functioning insomniac. When I DO sleep, I mumble weird stuff under my breath, hence my little commentary. I shift over again. How much longer is this going to be? This is SO not comfortable. “Bird thing, bird thing,” I mumble.

 

“Duo.”

 

I pretend to snap groggily awake. “M’up.”

 

Heero studies me imperceptibly for a minute then says, “There is an OZ research facility hidden under this city.” He spins the laptop around to face me, and I lean forward to see. He clicks a few buttons and a 3-D model of the base pops up.  “Three levels.” It revolves around a few times and I study it.

 

“Would ya look at that? So, let me guess, we blow it up, right?”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“What’s our time frame on this?”

 

“Our window is 45 minutes from when we enter the facility. Any minute over that reduces our chances of mission success to 33%.”

 

I, (with a true test of will) resist rolling my eyes. Always with the percentages of mission success. “So, what’s the plan?”

 

“Penetrate to the second level. Wire at the secondary power core. Here.” He clicks a button, and a section of the base is highlighted. “You’ll wire it. I’ll be in this station here.” Another click and another piece is highlighted. “Downloading all of the research files as per mission parameters.”

 

“What’s the damage?” He doesn’t even pause before answering. Must be getting used to Duo lingo. Not bad.

 

“We’ll need to use a timed G9 blast with two remote detonators.”

 

“You want me to burn out the inside, or collapse it?”

 

“Collapse. There’s OZ warehouses above it so—” I cut him off with, “So no worries right?”

 

“We can take down all of it with one explosion.”

 

“What about mobile suit involvement?”

 

“Wufei will cover us by sea in Shenlong and if any reinforcements show up above ground he’ll create a diversion by—”  I interrupt cheekily with, “Destroying every OZ POS in sight?” He makes a noncommittal noise and nods.

 

I look up from memorizing the first and second level maintenance hallways. “Why isn’t he in here getting the down-low with me?”

 

“Wufei got the message for the mission on his own laptop. He has no need of briefing.” I look at Heero. Am I imagining things, or was there a slight _tone_ to Heero’s voice right there? Not like a ‘die Duo, for defiling my laptop and then trying to get away with it’ tone but kind of a patronize-y with a hint of amused snarkiness? Naw, couldn’t be. I shake my head to clear it and say, “So when do we move out?”

 

“Three hours. Get ready.” He grabs the laptop and heads back towards our room. I glance at the clock. That’ll put us hitting that place at about 1:30 in the morning. Oh, joy. I just love these graveyard shifts. And my continuing overall stellar choice of language. I sigh and get to work. I dump about half my bag onto the kitchen and start creating.

 

“One G9 bomb, coming right up.”

 

 

*********************************************IDOL*********************************************

 

 

The two hours it takes me pass in a haze of Gundam Pilot industry and then it is finished. I flail my hands in a dramatic flourish and say, “Ta da!” for the benefit of Trowa, who was fishing around half-heartedly in the fridge.

 

He pulls his head out gives me a moment of contemplation and then says in his usual Trowa fashion, “You should check it.”

 

Usual means he doesn’t follow up or give you any kind of information and yet somehow, you know exactly what he means. I answer in the only way you CAN answer Trowa sometimes, like you actually HAVE had a conversation and say, “Sure thing! So, you got something for me to run it on?”

 

“Table.”

 

“Okee-day then, off I go.” I trot off to the living room where Wufei is reviewing Shenlong’s data and marking info in delicate Chinese into a little book and grab (presumably) Trowa’s laptop off of the low little piece of wood with four legs. (It really is giving it too much credit to call it a table.)

 

“Should you be taking _more_ laptops that don’t belong to you?” Wufei asks offhandedly, not looking up from what he is doing. I sneer at him and stalk back into the kitchen. I’ve really got to do something about the even status of our relationship right now. When I trot back into the kitchen Trowa is seated next to where I was sitting and is carefully regarding my masterpiece. I slide the computer on the table and say, “I need Heero’s program to run the check, though.” I look at him hopefully. He just stares at me calmly. I plead in the one true Trowa language. I stare at him unblinkingly and think as hard as humanly possible at him, ‘You are wanting to go ask Heero for his program. You are wanting to do this for Duo.’ I sigh and give up. It’s not working. I sit down and prepare myself to go in and ask Heero for it.

 

Come on Duo, you can do it! It’s mission related, he can’t kill you! But common sense is winning. He’s pissed at you, he’s gonna kill you, you gonna die! Dead Duo, dead Duo! I look up and Trowa walks back in. Hmm, when did he leave? I frown, and then he slides the program drive across the table to me and sits back down. I gape at him and then cackle in glee. “Woot! Thanks, T-man!” Seeing as he probably saved my life (and he didn’t even have to), I drop the whole uni-bang thing. I mean, come on, like I have room to talk right? Me and my 8 feet of hair.

 

I lock in the drive and run the program.

 

“Let’s see, enter in these little calculation thingies here, and those parameter thingies there, and voila!” I press enter. Trowa and I watch the simulation of the base explosion. I frown, reset, and we watch again. And again, and then again. “Shit!” I curse vehemently under my breath. “Uh, Heero? Oi, Heero!”

 

“Un.”

 

I take that as a ‘go ahead.’ “Ah, when you say, “collapsing,” do you mean COLLAPSING or just collapsing?”

 

Heero comes in, looking only mildly irate. I smile sheepishly. Oh yeah, excellent Duo, like only ‘mildly’ is a good thing. “What,” he growls. I show him the simulation. He looks at me. I hold up my hands helplessly. “Why isn’t it working?”

 

“I don’t know!” I show him the paper I have that I scribbled the calculations on. Now HE frowns.

 

“These are correct.”

 

“I know.” I rub my head; frustrated. “I don’t get it? What am I missing?”

 

He goes into the program and checks the settings. “These are correct as well.” I groan. Heero and Trowa just stare at me.

 

“Huh? Oh, no way in HELL is this my fault!”

 

“What is going on in here?” Enter Quatre the peacemaker. I explain. Of course, Trowa has used up his ten word quota for the day and it’s quite obviously beneath Heero to do so.

 

“This bomb here,” I indicate said explosive device, “is set with the proper configurations to completely collapse that,” I jerk my thumb towards the model displayed on the computer screen, “plus the warehouses on top of it. All of my calculations and the numbers in the SIM are correct, yet somehow,” I switch on the SIM, “THIS winds up happening.” He watches. “This damn thing,” I continue, “is only damaging the second level. The ENTIRE base is still salvageable not to mention that the warehouses are still intact which is—”

 

“—unacceptable,” Heero cuts me off, “Mission failure is not an option.”

 

“No one’s saying it is,” Quatre soothes.

 

Heero fiddles around with the program some more and then fixes me with a hard glare. “Fix it.”

 

“Fix it!?” I squawk. “How the hell do I fix something that isn’t broken?!”

 

“Then do it over.”

 

“Now that’s even more impossible!”

 

Heero looks at Trowa. “Can you fix it?”

 

Trowa replies flatly and inscrutably, “There’s nothing wrong with it.” Apparently that means no.

 

Heero does the whole, ‘glare at Duo evilly’ thing again and repeats flatly, “Do it over.”

 

“Heero, I have 40 minutes. If I attempt to do it in that time frame I’ll have to rush. Rushing means I blow us all up now, the two of us later, or nothing gets blown up at all! Also, I still have no idea what’s wrong! How can I re-do or fix anything if I don’t know what’s wrong with it in the first place?” I howl. He opens his mouth but I cut him off before he can speak. “Where’s Wufei?”

 

“He’s already left for Green Area,” Quatre answers me.

 

“Shit!” I fist my hands in my hair.

 

Heero looks at the clock on the computer and says, “35 minutes. Figure it out, Duo.” I open my mouth to convey my great indignation at that statement by telling him where he can stick it when Quatre looks up from his scrutiny of the simulation.

 

“It’s the rock.” We all look at him. “In your calculations, you’ve configured it with standard density variations, but in the SIM, it’s got to be something stronger, some kind of ore.” I fly at the computer and bring up the program’s code. I point to the screen.

 

“What out of that scheiße represents the rock around the facility!?”

 

Heero leans forward. “This one.” He selects a line of numbers.

 

Quatre frowns. “Yes, but what IS it?” 

 

“Doesn’t matter,” I crow excitedly as I go down and revise my equations. “It could be petrified dino poop for all I care, as long as I have those numbers I can ‘fix it,’ Heero.” I finish. “There!”

 

Heero checks. “Good.”

 

Quatre checks us both nods and then says, “30 minutes.”

 

Trowa, who has been rummaging through my goodies, wordlessly holds out a sealed stick of some left-over powder I ‘salvaged.’ (Actually, risked my life to steal, but let’s not get into that now.) “Yes, yes, yes!” I grab my tools and some left-over wire and carefully attach it to the bomb. While I’m working, Trowa tells Heero the stats of the powder and he enters them into the SIM. The simulation finishes running just as I finish. Heero grunts.

 

“Still not enough,” Quatre sounds panicky. “20 minutes!”

 

I frown. “Christ,” I say, stumped, “we need to repurpose their structural design team to work on my Pilot seat.” They all look at me. “What? All I’m sayin’ is that I wouldn’t mind such security and integrity around my ass.”

 

Quatre sighs, “Focus, Duo.”

 

I grind my knuckles into my temple. What else can I do? “Say Heero,” I venture, “how flexible are the mission parameters?”

 

He looks at me. “Which ones?”

 

I fiddle around with the layout of the base.

 

“Could I change the drop point from here,” I point to the previous spot on the model, “to here?” Now I’m pointing to a spot in the middle of the base.

 

Heero studies it carefully. “That’s the main power generator for the whole base. You’ll be pushing the time frame to get out of there.”

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” I wave my hand dismissively at him, “I realize that, but can it be done?”

 

He stares at me. I frown. He’s looking at me strangely. “Yes.” I dismiss it.

 

“All right, then. Let’s do it.”

 

“15 minutes,” Quatre says.

 

Heero brings up a few more files, which turn out to be more maps of the facility interior. “You’ll need to memorize these.” He leaves the room but turns back for a moment. “Pack up. We move out NOW.”

 

“Absolutely,” I say, as I pack up the bomb and memorize the layouts now on the screen. I can get into the main core there, right underneath one of the main consoles, by using the service access crawl space from that guard station there . . . I give a wicked little smile. “Better prepare yourselves, boys. Shinigami’s coming,” I whisper. Heero stalks in, scowling. I stand up and hold up my hands. “Done!” He removes the program drive from Trowa’s laptop and drops it into the black backpack that must be holding an extra gun or two, ammo, and his laptop (and no telling what else) I’ve pulled my own, smaller black backpack out of my larger duffle. My extra weapons and ammo, a few standard gadgets of mine as well as my little, ‘bundle of joy’ are stored in there. I gently pick it up and follow him out the door, down the stairs, and out of the building.

 

Three blocks over and four blocks down there’s a nondescript jeep parked on the side of the road. Heero does the whole lookout thing while I unlock the doors; courtesy of a couple of souped-up lock picks and some very cutting edge vehicle systems interfaces. Made ‘em myself! “We’re in,” I whisper. Heero opens the door and tosses his bag into the back. I go around the other side of the jeep and get in, carefully setting the pack on my lap. I squirm around, trying to get comfortable as Heero hotwires the jeep. He casually pulls out and drives us through the city. I keep squirming but after Heero shoots me a no nonsense ‘settle down fool’ (I might be paraphrasing there) look I decide that my comfort is as good as it’s gonna get with my package on my . . . package, as it were.

 

“How long?”

 

“It will take us 30 minutes to reach our point of entry, disregarding traffic conditions.”

 

“Gotcha.” I shift around some more until I can pull my track player out of my jacket pocket. I peek at Heero. He’s ignoring me. Oh, there’s a big surprise. I shift around some more unconsciously, then freeze and do my best to avoid glancing over at Heero. I put the earphones on and flick through my tracks. Oh, what the hell. I hold down the button and then let go randomly. Vaguely eastern sounding music starts up.

 

I frown. Don’t remember this one. I relax my face and give a mental shrug. Oh well. I collect songs and playlists and albums like some old ladies collect cats. Who knows from whence they came? Not me.

 

                                                / _Time, what a lonely road is time_

_Never will we know, if our love is true_

_At night, I sleep and dream of you_

_Only to awake, in my empty room/_

 

It’s a woman’s voice, rich and full. I lean back and listen.

 

                                                _/You give me power_

_You give me reason_

_So, will you love me?_

_Time only knows, time only knows/_

 

My hands are playing in the air, going through the motions of wiring the bomb. My mind is going through different level plans and escape routes. The music plays on.

 

                                                _/You give me power_

_You give me reason_

_So, do you love me?_

_Time only knows, time only knows/_

 

The song repeats, then ends. It switches seamlessly into the next track. The beat starts out fast—hard rock, good background music! I check the clock. We’ve been driving about five minutes. I’ll let this song end. Then there are some issues I need to discuss with Heero. A few minutes later it ends. Something about sugar and going down swinging. Interesting. I turn off my TP and take off the earphones. I stuff it all back into my jacket pocket and psych myself up.

 

Okay Duo! You can do it! Heero can’t kill you, he’s driving! Then reality comes back with the counter-argument. Uh, hello, Duo? This is Heero, remember? You are so going to die. Then I remember, it’s a mission! He can’t kill me, he needs me! I’m a valuable asset! Before the voice of reason can come back with something like, ‘pain, lots of pain! You know you’d be surprised what you can live through! Heero is living proof!’ I open my big mouth.

 

“Heero.”

 

“Un.” Score! An ‘un’ on the first try! I decide to go straight for the kill.

 

“What do you know about that bird thing in the tree?” Silence. I resist the urge to gulp. Actually, it’s more like I start to gulp but try to stop myself, and I and up having a choking / coughing fit. After I’m through gagging, I risk taking a peek at Heero. Who is still ignoring me. I sigh and lean back. “Never mind,” I mutter.

 

“There is a 5:1 ratio that the unidentified was an escaped or released test subject from the facility.” I gape at him. “The third level is the test subject area.”

 

“When were you going to tell me this?” He just stares at me.

 

I groan. “Unbelievable. Stick me inna base with ‘unidentified’ test subjects.”

 

“The mission does not require us to descend to the third level. There is less than a 10% chance we would need to penetrate in that far, and a less than 15% chance we will encounter any test subjects, or come in contact, other than digital form, with their research.”

 

“Oh, well, that just makes it better then, doesn’t it?” Heero looks at me again. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, I no longer care what he has to say. “Not interested Heero, so don’t talk to me.” I turn my face away and look out my window. What? Am I just that unimportant? We already ran into a UCB (unidentified clacking bird), which I’m sure puts our percentage chance of encountering more UCT’s (unidentified creepy…things), WAY up there. Why? Why did he not tell me? I got attacked once already, and it’s not important enough to tell me?

 

Oh, right. I forgot. I’m Duo. Duo the joker, the non-serious, the ‘baka.’ Duo, the least of us. Obviously not respected enough to receive even “minor” details. It’s my fault. I put on the whole ‘Duo no baka’ act. I do like me some underestimation but obviously (now is a good example) it has come to bite me back in the ass. Someday, if we survive long enough to know each other, maybe they’ll figure me out.

 

I can see Heero looking at me on the window glass. I debate on whether or not to continue to ignore him, but decide not to since it’s pointless, seeing as he doesn’t care. “You should be watching the road, ya know,” I say with nonchalance to inform him that I’ve gotten over it.

 

We turn off into a marginally overgrown access road, which skirts the main area of OZ Warehouses and regular administrative facilities. After a few more minutes we slow down, and pull off to the side.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

“Hai, Oyabun!” This time he turns around fully to stare at me. He blinks. I grin cheekily at him and carefully, handling the bundle of joy, I hop out of the jeep. Heero’s shaken it off by the time he gets his assorted mission gear out of the back and gets out himself. He checks his watch and pauses a moment, then starts forward. I follow him off the road and into the dark shadows of a lone storage building. We skirt the perimeter. A few minutes later, I gag. “What is that?” I hiss. “It smells _disgusting_.”

 

“We enter here.”

 

‘Here’ is apparently a small culvert, a drain set in the foundation of the building.  A grown man would have to stoop to walk in it, but we won’t.  I really wish that Heero Yuy were the sort of person to jack around with me but as he raises his leg and kicks straight through the flimsy grate blocking the entrance (Holy Fuck Heero who even _does_ that?) that sad and short lived hope goes the way of the grate.  Down and out for the count. 

 

“Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. We are _not_ entering through the sewer. You said lower tunnels, NOT stinky sewer.” Silence. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Yes, pun intended. I try to forestall the inevitable. “What—what if, if, if I slip and the bomb goes off?” Great one Duo, he’ll DEFINITELY buy that. The only response I get is his left arm pumped up and down with his hand in a fist.  The double-time it signal.  Or, in Heero-speak, ‘get a fucking move on and shut the hell up while you’re at it’.  And people say he doesn’t communicate well with others. I sigh. “ _Shit_.” This is no longer a curse, or even a pun, merely a statement of fact. “Oh my God,” I whine piteously as I unenthusiastically follow his lead, “who knows what constitutes waste at this place?” No response. “Oh dear sarsaparilla, what I could be stepping in right now!” I end with a venomous hiss as my first footstep lands with a sickening ‘splop’ sound.

 

The walls are curved around us, making this drain more of the tube variety.  My night vision starts to kick into overdrive as the dark and disgusting looms ahead of us. The smell is overpowering. Oh no, my hair! “No way I survive this. Duo, 16, killed by a frickin’ smell,” I grumble. “I think I’m gonna faint. Or puke. Either one. Or both. Or puke and then faint. Or I could faint and then puke and then die. Just lovin’ my options.” Something runs over my foot. I make a choking sound and freeze. Up ahead, I hear Heero stop.

 

“What is it?” Is it just me, or does he sound _concerned_? “Duo,” he says sharply, “Did you drop the bomb?” Just me.

 

“Coming. And NO I didn’t drop the bomb. What do you take me for? Of COURSE I didn’t drop the bomb. Jesus. Give me a little credit,” I snarl. I HATE rats. I spend the rest of that God-forsaken trek through hell re-imagined contemplating the various ways to commit genocide on rats with my Gundam.

 

I’ve fallen into a sewer-induced stupor, so once again, the only way I figure out we’ve arrived at our destination is when I run smack right into Heero. Again. I shuffle around ‘till I regain my balance. There’s a small ‘click’ and the tunnel becomes brighter, not much brighter, but light is light, ya know? I pull out my gun and settle the bag with the coup de grace more firmly on my back.

 

I follow Heero’s lead through the now open access door, into another series of tunnels, these lit every so often by dim light fixtures. Down down, down down down we go. We’re now underneath the base itself, and the smell isn’t so bad anymore...or maybe I’ve just gotten used to it. Oh God, I think that last may be the worst thought I’ve had all evening. Now we’re looking for the access way that should lead us up to the second level. The only sounds are drips and scraping sounds and whatnot. You know what, though? I take it back. This sewer / drainage system is one of those ‘worse’ places I was speaking of earlier. The dingy apartment is to this (literal) craphole as L2 is to L4.  Read: dirty whore selling it on the street to elegant girlfriend that puts out but classily in private. So yes, I find myself wishing for the small boring apartment. Hey, boring is better than certain death at any random corner, right?  Just like abstinence is better than venereal disease. I’m talking sewer death here by the way, and that doesn’t register on the flirt with danger to feel alive meter. Did I mention that it’s cold? Well, it’s cold.  Least favorite mission. Ever. And it hasn’t even really started yet so that’s saying something, it really is.

 

We reach service access door #218. Heero looks back at me. I settle the backpack once more against my back and nod. He opens the door. (Actually, it looks more like a sub hatch and there’s another clue that this mission is gonna rank up there on the Duo chart of Mission: Suck Ass), and we cover each other as Heero closes the hatch-door behind us and we climb the steep ramp that makes a slow spiral to the second level. I am so not looking forward to coming back down. My mind swiftly comes up with six or seven different, most unpleasant escape scenarios. Oh joy. Why do I always end up dead? Why can’t my sub-conscious knock off Wufei or something?

 

A strange gibbering sound snaps me out of my morbidity, and turns me real serious, real fast. Both Heero and I freeze. It echoes from somewhere but I can’t get a lock on it. Heero slides to the left and I to the right, and we put our backs on the wall. When we came in, Heero took the position as rearguard, and he looks behind us as I strain my eyes in front of us.

 

Nothing. Just normal background noise. Drip…drip…drip…you get the idea. We wait as long as we can afford, then advance slowly up. Nothing. We continue on, but both of us are on edge. I’m really, REALLY starting to _hate_ this place. Creepy, cold, stinky, slimy, strange noises, dark…no redeeming traits, whatsoever. We reach the #218 entrance without any further incident. Heero motions to me, and I hand over the bomb bag and get to work on the lock. I wrestle with OZ systems and security protocols and lockouts for a few brief moments but there’s nothing special about this system. I slide the door open and carefully look. Stark, white, bright and empty. WAY too easy. Was there really no extra security? No backup systems? No guards? I raise an eyebrow to Heero and he gives me back the bag. I settle on my back carefully, and we move out of the darkness and into the light, and close the door behind us. 


	2. Shadow of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I could say a lot about this chapter. It's storied (heh pun) history. The frantic last minute rewrites. The queenly aura of my Betaloveslave. But no. 
> 
> I shall simply say: I'm so glad that no one can see the lame-ass happy dance I'm doing up in here right now at posting my 2nd chapter. 
> 
> The fact that there is high-pitched squealing goes without saying.

**IDOL**

Into the Darkness and Out of the Light

II

**Shadow of Death**

 

 

_Life itself is but the shadow of death, and souls departed but the shadows of the living._

\--Thomas Browne

 

 

The facility is bright white to the point of blinding. Because you know, OZ is the beacon of hope and purity in this age. Great. Now I’ll be working with a headache. And may I say a big one goes up to Heero and the point of entry committee. Great job guys. That was the beam in the scythe, it really was. If I live through this I will FONG you. 

 

To my left the hallway we’ve emerged into dead-ends, and to the right extends on. Other than the door we just came in, there is nothing else in this hallway. No other doors, no miscellaneous equipment of any kind, nothing posted on the walls and no fake windows. Weird. It’s absolutely silent. I can’t even pick up the hum of machinery. I turn to Heero and raise my eyebrows. He flicks his fingers to the bomb, and then to the right. Mission is still a go. What a shock. He and I head down the hallway until we reach a four-way intersection. We split off here. I go left and he goes straight. Right. Here we go. I draw my gun and quickly snap on my extremely illegal silencer mod. If I’m lucky, I won’t meet anyone I’ll have to kill until I reach the generator. And if I do, I have several alternate routes I can use to detour if need be.

 

I make my way down the first (and best) path I had memorized earlier to the main power generator. I move quickly, shifting in and out of Shinigami mode to use my senses to feel around corners and down hallways for the presence of people. Okay. This is freaking me out. Each time I check around a corner, nothing. Each time I hack through a door there’s no one on the other side. Seriously. There’s no sign of life. Nai. Nada. Zilch. No sounds, no random wandering worker people, no guards. Nothing. I should have seen or felt something by now. I wind up taking a detour because when you sneak into Oz-controlled territory, eventually you have to detour. I need normalcy in this fucking mission. My face is hurting I’m frowning so hard. All right, I know it’s around 1:30 in the morning, and this being a research facility, not a military base, most of the hard-working mad scientist personnel are at home asleep. Not to mention I came in the back door. And I mean the really, really, _really_ back door, plus I’m using service hallways and access doors, but still. This is WAY too easy. I should have come across a guard making some rounds or some kind of security detail. Or maybe one of those late-night computer techies, or a janitor, custodial staff, _something_. Not that I’m complaining. Am I complaining? Easy is great. Easy is smooth. It’s just—things never go smooth.

 

I’m worried. This feels like a dead base. I’ve come across one of those twice before. First time was no big deal; the intel was old and the place was shut down and abandoned, the result of a lost battle in the ever-shifting playing field of Romefeller and OZ alliances. The second time—

 

I hear something down the left hallway of the next intersection. Finally! Ok. I was starting to worry. I slide to the intersection to evaluate detour vs. sneak by vs. neutralize (Shinigami floating to the top of my mind) with my back up against the wall and a sure grip on my gun. I slowly slide my face around the corner just enough to let my eyes do a quick sweep. Nothing. I let out a noiseless sigh as Shinigami grudgingly sinks back down. The feeling of lurking doom returns. I hate all this sneaking around. I mean, don’t get me wrong! I am like a top sneaker, and I can skulk with the best of them, but I’m more of a sneak and then strike and then blow everything to tiny little bits. Sneaking for the purpose of continued sneaking drives me batshit. I decide to pick up the pace. I’m in, and now I want out as quickly as possible.

 

Anyway, the second time I found myself in a dead base, there’d been a mole in the intel op, and they’d known I was coming. Place was booby trapped to hell and back. Land mines, motion sensor bombs, elite OZ teams, heat-seeking lasers, you name it—I had to survive through it, and I barely did at that. My only saving grace right now seems to be the fact that, were this an OZ-style Gundam trap, I would have come across something by now, or I’d already be dead. Hooray for Duo the amazing, still alive.

 

The hallway I’m sneaking through comes to an end with a door marked, ‘Entrance: Secondary Hallway Line – B2.’ Okay, now this is the fun part. The great thing about underground bases is—no wait, let me rephrase that. The only good thing about underground bases is the larger-than-average ventilation shafts. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still small, but then again so am I. Duo the shrimp strikes again. I always get picked for just the BEST missions.

 

I slip the backpack off of my shoulders and set it gently on the ground. I give my surroundings the obligatory nervous once-over, and leap up and undo the clasps of the ventilation screen right above me. Soundless. Good. On the second leap I slide the screen off to the side. It makes a scraping sound, which in this silence, sounds abnormally loud. I wince. Oops and then shit followed by a fuck. At least it doesn’t echo. No point in hanging around and getting shot at by the ONE present security guard that HAS to be out there somewhere though. I pick up the backpack and leap up and gently slide it into the shaft. When I silently land back down, a thought comes to me. I must look like a freakin’ frog. I make a face and leap up (yet again, but for the last time) and grab onto the edge. I just hang for a second, and then pull myself up into the space.

 

I twist around (Duo the acrobat, version 6.0 updated just now) and place the screen back into place. Silently, thank God. I shuffle around until I am gently pushing the backpack forward in front of me and make my way (all from memory, DAMN I’m good) to the power core. This is slow going. I check my watch. 20 minutes have passed. 25 minutes remain. I say another 5-10 minutes to get there at most, then 5 minutes to wire the bomb, which leaves me (worst-case scenario) with 10 minutes to get out. This is still do-able. It is completely do-able and I am not about to blow my own self up at all.

 

Who decided to change the place-of-bomb-explosion? Oh, yeah. That was me! I make a face as I silently wrestle with the bag as it gets snagged on the edge of a vent. I _volunteered_ for this? What the HELL is my problem? Did I drink the Heero Yuy self-destruct kool-aid?

 

Why am I so surprised? Heero told me I’d be pushing it to make the time. So, why am I a terrorist again? Because it must be done. It must be done, and you know what they say ‘bout getting it done right. Someday, a mission will require my life. And if that’s what it takes, I’ll give it—not that I’m going to go LOOKING for my death mission unlike some people. I just hope it’s not anytime soon, say like within the next 30 minutes or something. ‘cause in the grand scheme of my life of suck? That would suck.

 

I peek through the next vent screen as I crawl over it. Still no signs of life. Damn this vent is cramped. Good point: I may finally be getting my long over-due growth spurt. Bad point: I no longer fit in ventilation shafts, which won’t keep them from assigning me these missions. Conclusion? Duo must lose weight. Sigh. From Duo the Frog, to Duo the Human Cockroach. Well, at least it’s better than Duo the Rat. Yeah. Been there, done that. Not dwelling. There will be no dwelling. _No dwelling, Duo_!

 

I finally reach my exit vent screen. That took me 7 minutes. Congratulations Duo, that’s about 3 whole extra minutes you may get to live. Well done, self. Ah, me.  Beauty, brains, AND talent all in one travel-size (for your convenience) package. I peer down through the screen. Coast is still clear. This being a guard station, one would expect to see some guards, because it’s against regulations for all guards to be out on patrol at the same time from the guard station of the _primary power core_. Where the hell are those fucking guards? I was all prepared for some sniping from the vent shaft. I look at the monitors I can see from my position, and wonder if Heero’s hacked in and re-written security protocols yet. According to the mission clock he should have, therefore I should not appear on any camera. All of the footage in this joint should be on a Heero Yuy-induced loop. I don’t have time for this. If there are no guards, there are no guards, right?

 

I open the screen and quietly set it to the side. I drop soundlessly to the ground and look back up at it. How much noise is putting it back into place going to make? On the other hand, if the guards come back and notice it open, but then fixing it back will probably bring the guards running anyway. I say screw it, and turn toward the row of monitors. There’s a couple seconds shaved off of my escape time. I give the monitors a quick glance, then stop and turn back. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at ALL. I look at the video system displayed and see no one. It’s just the loop Duo, get back on track. Nothing for it, I guess. I drop down to the floor and crawl under the desk, navigating my way through the jumble of wires. There it is.

 

I move the cover out of the way and scrunch down to follow the wires. I crawl through the service access all the way to the main generator. I ready my gun and grip it with Shinigami hands, still and sure and ready to kill. I calculate that there should be no more than three people, (graveyard shift) all technicians of some kind, in this sealed room. I’ll shoot the ones closest to the door first, which is to the right from where I’m sitting. I move the cover out of the way and swing my gun around, trying to get sights on someone. I feel nothing because I am Shiniga—wait. There’s no one here. What a waste of a Shinigami moment. This is so WAY wrong. I wonder if I should try to access the system and try to contact Heero. This has _got_ to be a dead base. Wait, no, that doesn’t figure. I try to come up with a scenario in which I abort from a mission in which I am partnered with Heero and he DOESN’T kill me. Yeah. There are none. Fuck my life. I move to one of the main consoles in the center of the room, connected to the gentle hum of eternally recycling power, and start to set up. My hands are automatically wiring the bomb, setting the timer, but my mind is thinking on a different problem.

 

There were half-eaten meals of some kind in the guard station. They were old, but not spoiled. Data streams and info screens still up and running, like they just stepped away for a moment. This base has been abandoned, but not with OZ procedure. Which means… No, it can’t be that, I’d have run into a trap of some kind by now, or a squad of soldiers, especially here, in what is sometimes referred to in sweeper ops fondly as ‘sweet spot # frickin’ A.’ (Also the place that they know that you know that they know that you know that they know you’re going to hit.) I eye the power console I’m hooking the bomb up to suspiciously. Then another solution comes to mind, and it chills me to the bone. I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. Recent events being taken into account and all.

 

My hands stop moving. I look down in surprise. Oh. Bomb wiring, set, and activation complete. The counter starts up. Oh shit! Time to go. I check my watch and decide that whatever’s happened to this base doesn’t matter very much, ‘cause in 14 minutes (HA I gained a minute), it’s not gonna be here anymore anyway. I pull out my detonator and activate it. A little red light comes on. Wherever Heero is, his is triggered too. It’s his bomb is good to go and will go off on mission schedule heads up. 13 minutes. I’m packed up now, time to haul ass!

 

I scramble back through the computer access hatch back to the guard station, (still no guards, but then there really wouldn’t be, would there?), and straight up into the ventilation system, completely ignoring the screen. It kinda doesn’t matter know. Moot point, ya know? And as for Duo the skulking king? Duo the paragon of sneak among us? Dead. Crushed by Duo the mass-stampede. Because he wants to (you guessed it) LIVE. I ricochet through the shaft. This place is SO history, and I am so NOT going to be here when it happens. Personal goal to be fulfilled and all that.

 

Personal goal: to not die until I am no longer a virgin. Vent screen #5, turn left here. I want out. I don’t even pause to check my time. Vent screen #2. Next one. Here! I unclasp it, and shove it out of the way. I come out headfirst, gun at the ready. Still empty, like that comes as a shock. I gracefully flip myself and land in a forward roll and come up running. As I start re-tracing my steps, I am unable to keep myself from glancing at my watch. 5 minutes. Okay. Not bad. I can do that. I hope. I turn a corner, and stop dead. Person. White lab coat. Threat? My gun comes out as a reflex. One male. His back is to mine. I look on from a different world as I level my gun at him. Either hearing or sensing me, he jerks himself around. Unarmed, OZ employee, minimal threat. I start moving forward again.

 

“Drop to the floor. You have five seconds to comply.” Duo—the real Duo—tries to put up a pro-life argument. Death is needless, war is pointless yada yada yada.

 

“Five.” The man starts to move toward me. See why there’s no place for Real Duo in a war? Nothing would ever get done. And I’d be dead already. 

               

“Four.” Seven feet.

 

“Three.” Six feet.

 

“Two.” Five feet.

 

“One.” Shinigami wins. The situation is given a cool once-over. I fire one shot to the head, and I am running again and in the next hallway before the body hits the floor. I let Shinigami take over fully, and I see the world through darker eyes.

 

I must increase speed. I have 3 minutes left. I must live. I must. Turn here. Dead end. #218. Exit is open. Courtesy of 01? Ramp at 20% incline. Wet. I shift my balance to accommodate. I have 2 minutes. The ramp ends around this turn. I prepare myself for sewer conditions. When I turn the corner and hit the sewer I’m prepared and the slimy surface doesn’t slow me down. I continue running as fast as I can toward the exit. 1 minute. When I reach the exit of the sewer, I have 30 seconds. I fly out of there and race around the side of the building. There’s 01, standing with the driver’s side door open. Good. My ride didn’t leave me for dead. It’s always nice to be able to count on your partner. There is the muffled sound of the explosion, the ground beneath my feet rumbles, and off in the distance, several warehouses collapse, in complete perfection. Mission. Complete.

 

Shinigami looks at Heero through Duo’s eyes. Something flickers in his eyes, and he regards me neutrally, contemplating something. Shinigami wants to have some more fun, blow some more shit up, but I bludgeon him into submission, and he sinks back into his dark corner of my mind. I wince internally. No way did Heero miss that. My eyes change color when I go back and forth from Shinigami mode. When I say I see the world through darker eyes, I mean literally too. Heero saw me with my darker colored eyes, not normal pilot 02 physical appearance by the way, and then he saw them switch back and Duo return. Great. Please Heero; just don’t mention it, because I can’t even explain it to myself.

 

“Mission accomplished. We move out now.” Thank you Yuy. I slide gratefully into shotgun. Right. Okay. Must regain control of myself. Bad Shinigami, freaking Heero out like that! I wonder if Heero really will let it go. Well what’s he gonna say? ‘Duo, your eyes changed color?’ So that I can then reply, ‘Heero, what’s with you? Isn’t making no sense my job?’ Now that Shinigami’s calmed down and out for now, I take the time to review my last few minutes in the base. Something was really bugging me about that guy in the lab coat. I mean, the whole mission reeked from the start, both literally and figuratively mind you, but there was just something…not right about that guy. Where did he come from? Where were his coworkers? What was he doing, a researcher/scientist type, in a janitorial hallway? Why didn’t he speak at all? What was with his ridiculous head-on advancement straight on into my gun, at about 2 inches per hour?

 

I think on what more and more, I am now positive happened to the base. Something went horribly wrong there, I think. Four hours before we engage our mission, I’m attacked by an escaped test subject from the third level. There was no sign of OZ involvement. No tracking, no containment squad. Then the deserted base. Those people left in a hurry. Somebody evacuated their asses OUT of there. No belongings taken, food left, computers and data still left running. But then the ONE guy. In the lab coat. Acting _very_ strangely. I break out in cold sweat. I should really probably NOT be dwelling.

 

But when did I ever listen to my rational side? Never. I turn to Heero. “Ah, Heero?” Nothing. I frown at him. Okay. No ‘hn’ of acknowledgement on first try. Jerk. “Oi, Heero?” He sighs and glances at me. That’s as good as it’s gonna get. All righty then.

 

“Heero, what were your assessments of that mission? Did anything strike you as…odd…or out of place? Something wrong with the whole big damn picture?” He remains silent and we speed up to suddenly burst out of the warehouse district and into the middle of a busy downtown street. I convulsively latch onto the side of the door and Heero’s arm. After much swerving and horn blaring, and a couple of hard turns that nearly flip us over, we join the mainstream of traffic in a normal regular coming home from work kind of manner. Okay. We SO just nearly died like 5 times back there. Did Heero just not see that chick in the sports car or what?

 

“Yo, Heero. We practically get offed by OZ and war every other minute. Could you try not to do it with your suicidal nonexistent driving skills?!” Heero gives me an unreadable glance, then looks pointedly down at my hand still clamped on his upper arm, and then looks back at the road. I sigh and release him. I think I might have broken the arm of a lesser person, but I doubt Heero will even have a bruise. Maybe it hurt him though, I think with a small evil hope. Oh, who am I kidding? He probably didn’t even _feel_ it.

  
I run the numbers on Heero and I in my head and get the ever-depressing Heero = winning tally. Damnit. And with all the subtlety _I_ display when I announce to OZ that they are under attack by stomping on their bases with Deathscythe, Heero has informed me that he does NOT want to talk about the mission yet, and he doesn’t want me talking about it either. We drive and drive to a random point in the city, dump the jeep, and foot it back to our craphole apartment, which I now appreciate beyond measure. I tell you, everything is perspective, it really is. 

 

Heero unlocks the door and if I hadn’t squeezed myself in behind him like a squid or some other slinky sea creature, I would have been squashed flat between the door and the jam. Insensitive jerk. One, two, three—Trowa, Wufei, and Quatre poke their heads out. Quatre from the community bathroom, Trowa from the kitchen, and Wufei from his bedroom. They give us a once-over, and satisfied that we are not a) dead, b) in need of immediate assistance, or c) OZzies in disguise, disappear back into their respective current haunts.

 

Well, my first stop was going to be the shower, but that’s kind of taken. I feel like crying. What if the smell sets in, damnit? I really, really, really, REALLY want a nice LONG hot shower. What time is it anyway? Heero walks past me and I twist myself nearer to him to catch a glimpse of the watch on his wrist. It’s 3:30. Two hours? That’s it? Well, I’m just beat then. I discreetly sniff myself. I don’t actually smell anything amiss… Hey Duo? Why did you just go out of your way to look at Heero’s watch when your own is right there on your wrist? I stop in mid stride and stare down the hallway blankly. I did that because…I roll that train of thought out of the way and start walking towards my room again. On with life!

 

Okay. Sleep, then shower. I’d probably just collapse out of exhaustion if I took a shower now anyway and kill myself on the tile. Being discovered dead whilst naked is up there in ways that I will not be dying if I have any say in it. I follow Heero into our room and sit on my cotbed. I shove my black duffel off the bed from where someone (most likely Quatre) had thoughtfully set it for me, and toss my backpack on top of it. Then I laboriously pull my boots off, one at a time. I slide my combat knife under my pillow and the gun is set on the table next to my head.

 

The bed is calling to me. Suddenly I’m about two eye blinks away from comatosia and can we get a _finally_ , insomnia bites the big one and gives way to yes, SLEEP. I can’t even sum up the energy to at least strip down to my boxers or something. I flop down onto my cotbed, face up. Well, being awake for three days straight will do this to a person. Sometimes it all just catches up to you. I hear tapping, and that’s no big surprise. Heero e-mailing the old geezers who continue to insist that we continue to obey them (which we continue to do, can’t fault an active hand I guess) for the standard ‘mission successful’ or ‘mission complete’ message. I am SO glad that’s his job, unofficial or not. He’s still typing away when I drift off.

 

The dream is always the same. There are fingers on my skin. Someone moves above me in the shadows. Moving with me. Hands stroking me, tracing heat; a phantom above me in the dark. It feels so good. Feels like promises kept and all the things I need. Those fingers trail along my body, quickening my breath. Someone breathes harshly in my ear, my heartbeat goes in a frenzied dance to keep up. Oh, God, who IS it? I want. I want I want it want it now—

 

I jerk myself awake, and lie gasping on the bed. I have to bite back a moan, but I don’t quite manage and some kind of low sound is caught in the back of my throat. Great, now I’ve probably woken up Mr. Heero-hair-trigger-Yuy. I glance over but his form is motionless and darkened and turned away from me. I stiffen up, and try to will my hard on away. Yeah, that works. Not. I flip over onto my stomach. That was a mistake because my hips give a ‘hallelujah’ and start driving into the bed. I grab my pillow and yank it over my head. I give a strangled yelp into the sheets. Muffled or not, if Heero wasn’t awake before, he sure as hell is now. Wonderful. This isn’t working, damnit.

 

I drag myself off the bed. My eyes drift over to Heero’s still form turned towards me and I pick out a green glow from his shape. Watch. I squint and try and make it out. 4:30.

 

One whole hour. That’s what I get after 72 hours of consciousness and a fucking monster attack and a stupid ass mission and after collapsing from exhaustion. A motherfucking catnap. Let’s see, a two hour COLD shower oughta put me at 6:30, which is not too terribly early to be awake. If you’re an owl or a nutria or something. I stagger into the bathroom and shut the door with the lightest slam I can manage and yank off my clothes. I turn on the bathroom light and blind myself. What IS it with bathroom lights? You’d think they’d be more user-friendly so people (like me) don’t nearly kill themselves tripping over the toilet. I turn on the shower (cold water ONLY), and step in.

 

DAAAAMN. Abort, abort full abort oh this was a mistake. Icy cold PAIN my poor aching genitals. I brace myself with one arm on the wall, and wrap my other arm around my midsection. I can feel my fingers digging into my waist, just above my hipbone. This isn’t helping much. I still want, I still NEED. But touching is a _sin_ Duo. No touchy. If I survive this war, I’m going to find a priest and make a full confession, but I just don’t think masturbation is something I could confess. Murder, destruction, genocide on OZ, sure. But I have enough sins, so I don’t need to be racking up one I can’t confess. Forgive me Father I have sinned, for I have pleasured my ownself…yeah. Not happening. Curse my Catholic upbringing. I try and convince myself that I don’t believe it, that it isn’t true. I fail. It’s gonna take a little bit more than the lure of self-gratification to overcome the eternal threat of hell and damnation, as always.

 

I turn my body so that the stream of icy water hits more of my frontal area. Finally, my erection begins to fade. I relax against the shower wall, gasping. I’m only sixteen! How the HELL am I supposed to make it ‘till I’m twenty or so and get married? Jesus H. Christ. Also, how did I even MAKE it to sixteen to begin with? I must have cajones of STEEL!  And then a happy thought comes to me. The chances of me making it any further past this year are slim to none at best. So on the upside, I probably won’t have to deal with my raging teenage hormones for that much longer. However, that clashes with my vow not to die a virgin.

 

I think on this for a little while, becoming numbed by the shower. I can only come up with one conclusion. This sucks, and I am fucked. Just not literally, which is, of course, the whole problem. I sigh and get over it, then start the long and arduous task of washing my hair and myself. I start humming a song I heard sometime, somewhere. I didn’t really like it, so I decided to improve it. I think the original song was called _Janie’s Got A Gun_ but I SO improved it. I sing it softly as I dry myself off, which, with my hair, is a monumental task.

 

“Dum, dum, dum, bonbon what have you done

Dum, dum, dum, it’s the sound of my gun

Dum, dum, dum, bonbon what have you done

Dum, dum, dum, it’s the sound, it’s the sound...

Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah....”

 

I actually emerge out of the shower around 6:45, squeaky clean in my favorite pair of mission pants (I have high hopes for today) and a black long-sleeved t-shirt with some French splashed all over it in white with some fleur-de-lis for good measure. Heero and Wufei are in the kitchen, and Trowa and Quatre are in his room bonding over something. I can’t see what it is, but it must be interesting. They’re discussing something deeply anyway. I walk into the kitchen, still humming the song under my breath. It was Quatre’s turn to scout us out some breakfast and he has delivered some wonderful smelling pastry things. I’m feeling pretty good, unfulfilled desire and my glorified one hour of ‘sleep’ and mission experience notwithstanding.

 

I feel like singing actually, I feel like feeling dangerously alive, because I start singing it out loud. My improved version.

 

“Heero’s got a gun

Heero’s got a gun

His whole world’s come undone

From looking straight at the sun

What did Dr. J do?

What did he put you through?

 

They say when Heero self-destructed

They found him underneath a train

But man, he had it comin’

Now that Heero’s got a gun

He ain’t never gonna be the same

 

Heero’s got a gun

Heero’s got a gun

His dog day’s just begun

Now everybody is on the run

Tell him now it’s untrue

What did Dr. J do?”

 

Wufei’s dropped his pastry into his green tea, and is regarding me with a fascinated if somewhat vacant gaze and Heero…is typing on his laptop, COMPLETELY ignoring me. Interesting. This could be fun. I open my mouth to continue when Quatre walks in with a worried look on his face. I jump the gun and speak before him.

 

“Heya sunshine, what’s up?”

 

Quatre gives me a strained look and says tersely to everyone. “I think we have a problem.” Sweet Kushrenada on a strip pole. When do we NOT have a problem? Heero’s head snaps up so quickly I’m surprised it doesn’t give him whiplash. Oh, sure. Acknowledge QUATRE’S existence.

 

“What,” he says in a flat monotone. Okay, his usual voice. I give you Heero Yuy. Doesn’t even stick question marks after his questions _that’s_ how, how…HEERO, he is and now you see what I have to put up with?

 

“There’s something happening in the city. It sounds like it might be some kind of epidemic, or,” he pauses for a moment and does not look at me, “a plague.” Well, there went my good mood. High hopes for today, was it? Yeah. Or not. I look at the pastry I was about to take a bite into, and decide that I don’t want it. I set it delicately back down on the community plate. Of course it’s a plague. And not for say, a snowstorm of epic proportions or a parade or the simultaneous release of all of our identities to the public. A fucking plague. No, that doesn’t dredge up memories better left buried, not at all.

               

“What _exactly_ ,” Heero stresses that word, “is the issue?”

 

“I don’t know,” Quatre admits, “but I think we need to look into it. If the city is no longer safe we’ll need to leave, and that will take some preparing, and before we could do anything, we’d need to inform _them_. And until we have specifics, we can’t really do that.”

 

“Affirmative,” Heero states. “We’ll proceed to the central square. OZ has a public broadcasting system set up there. That is the best place to start.”

 

Interesting. So Quatre really doesn’t care for _them_ much either, does he? Oh well, lesser of two evils I guess. _Them_ , or OZ. As much as it sucks, it’s a no-brainer. And I’m really starting to wonder exactly WHEN Heero and I are going to have our little talk about that whacked up mission. Everyone heads off to their respective areas of dwelling and start collecting whatever it is they think they’ll need. I shuffle off to Heero’s and my little hole in the wall and fish my combat knife from under the pillow. I secure it in its’ back sheath this time and fortify myself with some basic Duo-style tech. Yep. I’m ready. Wait. Gun, or no gun? Gun…or no gun? Fuck it. As I turn and leave I know damn well I should bring it with me and I say screw it anyway. Like I said before: therapy. I really do need it. If it’s not toeing the line between danger and death (and Heero), just for a high, it’s screwing myself over on purpose just because I can.

 

I wander back into the kitchen as everyone else congregates around the door. I regard my dropped pastry solemnly. To eat or not to eat. Now usually it would definitely be ‘to eat,’ but I get the feeling today is just going to be one of those days. On ‘one of those days,’ anything under the sun can happen to me, so if I’m going to be throwing up it’s helpful to not have anything to throw up. Gaps in my logic? If you only knew, oh the HORROR stories I could tell you about nice normal happy days gone wrong. (Of course, my days are never anywhere near normal or happy, so that should clue you in right there.)

 

Heero growls very seriously in my ear, (how does he DO that), “Move it Maxwell.” Last name. Moving it. I drop out of pastry contemplation zone-out and follow Heero and the others out of the apartment, down the stairs and out into the streets. Is it just me, or are we not the only little group heading in this direction? No. It’s not just me. My ‘this day is going to hell on steamroller’ feeling intensifies.

 

We walk along in grim silence, more or less in line with a general sort of twitchy feeling. Well everyone else LOOKS twitchy and rabbity and shit. We ARE twitchy, but I think we, (or should I say they?) hide it better. OZzies narrow in on twitchy-ness, and it’s obviously just by the grace of god that I haven’t been knocked off yet. Because, let me tell you, I am God’s GIFT to twitchy-ness. Word.

 

We gather in the square with the rest of the population, look up expectantly at the huge TV overlooking the square, and wait for five FREEZING minutes. My God, it’s like winter here or something because those little white flakes falling from the sky are definitely snow. The universe devotes itself to my discomfort at every turn. Anyway, we wait for five minutes or so while the broadcaster cups a hand over his ear and continually repeats, “Stand by, stand by.” Jesus H. CHRIST, we’re standing, we’re standing!

 

Finally, he gets on with it. “We are now receiving confirmed reports of an unidentified outbreak. Infection is rapid, though method of transmission is not yet known. Those that are infected display symptoms of delirium. They also seem be exhibiting aggressive and violent behaviors, and there are reports of physical violence. Further symptoms may include discoloration of the skin, loss of balance, and temporary muteness. No one as of yet has suffered a fatality, but all those, including medical staff and armed forces, come into contact are in turn infected. I repeat the method of transmission is not known at this time. Healthy citizens should avoid those that exhibit these symptoms for their own safety.”

 

He breaks off and cups his hand around his ear again, and people begin to jabber rapidly back and forth in voices pitched high with tension. Great. Fast moving plagues and no real information? We have got to get the hell out of this nightmare. I shift over a little, and jerk on Heero’s jacket sleeve. Huh, that jacket, has he always worn that jacket, have I seen that jacket before? He glances at me, and manages to look very pissed, even for him. Ok, Bonbon no like the tug on sleeve, got to remember that one.

 

“Heero, man, don’t you think it’s time we all went and had a little...” I glance shiftily around, and then put loads of meaning into my next words, “DOWN time?” As in, time to tell everyone what the HELL is going on, because we both know what it is and you know more than me AND you’re holding out so spill it Heero because _I_ am twitchy. I try to communicate all of this telepathically, and I must have succeeded somewhere, because he jerks his head, and we all follow him to the edge of the square and into a side alley.

 

Where have I seen that jacket before if it wasn’t on Heero? We from a loose circle, every once in a while glancing out at the crowd. And wonder of wonders, Heero actually talks. Like, _paragraph_ talks. He explains about our mission, and what he found in the OZ database. He tells us about the AD mutation. About the new field of research into viral agents and genetics to create perfect soldiers. Somewhere in all off this, I relate my little encounter with an infected. And now I know for sure what happened.

 

From the data Heero absconded with, he found out that about four hours before we hit the base, there was a breach in one of the containment areas. The entire base was infected. Numerous test subject escaped, whereabouts unknown. The base had been self-contained, and other than the few test subjects escaping, there was no danger of further infection. And then we blew up the base and let it out. Great. OZ will just have a field day with this. And yet another example of Duo the extraordinary screw-up screwing up. Just peachy Duo, blow up the base, complete the mission, and destroy the entire human race (hey that rhymed) and WHERE have I seen that jacket before? All things considering…I seem to be taking this pretty well.

 

Well, I mean, come on, how was I supposed to know? And if I hadn’t completed the mission and blown up the base, Heero would have killed me, and we’ve been over the whole ‘Duo will not die until he is no longer a virgin’ bit. Heero finishes explaining. I decide it’s time for me to jump in. Now let me explain one thing. I don’t know about my partners in crime here, but I have made a career out of self-preservation. The only option self preservation has at this time is to ‘get the HELL out.’

 

“Ah, compatriots?” As one they look at me. “We have to start leaving. As in, _now_. We have to go back to the apartment, contact our psycho puppet masters, and get our gear, _and_ get out to green are before they lock the city down, which is what they do when plagues break out and every manner of government and worldwide organization descends upon this area.” Quatre agrees with me, but that’s about it. Trowa says nothing, and Heero and Wufei are all for sticking around and gathering more information and using the distraction to take advantage of the other OZ operations in the city. They all have DEATH WISHES I swear. In the end, Quatre and Wufei head back to the apartment to contact the doctors and either pack or prepare for a mission based on the response. Great. We’re all gonna die. Me first probably. And in a manner that will most likely be as pathetic and embarrassing as it is painful. It’s almost enough to make me want to go out and get laid and screw the confessional, because I’m going to hell no matter what I do.

 

And guess who gets to stick around and watch the fun? I do. As per demands of Wing leader Yuy (heh, ‘WING’ leader, get it?) Don’t ask me how he’s the leader or why. He just is. Just me and Tro and Bonbon. Exactly how I wanted to spend my Saturday. More and more people pour into the square. I hate large crowds. They take an already twitchy guy to whole new levels of twitchiness. And the jacket is just bugging me. I probably really needed more than my one hour fucking NAP. We hang around the square until it’s about noon, with more and more people showing up, and only hear the same old news. No new updates, which I find to be a very bad sign. Around noon, being as I skipped my pastry breakfast, I predictably get very hungry. Nothing can diminish the hunger of a sixteen year-old terrorist for long, especially if you happen to be Duo, the boundless source of energy always requiring fuel. Yeah, you try telling YOUR stomach that it’s better not to eat because in a little while you might be taking a trip to hell in a hand basket. Yup, it doesn’t work, does it?

 

Heero, Trowa and I are currently lounging around on the outskirts of the square. Heero and Trowa are both casually leaning against the wall, and I’m lazing about on a streetlight pole, facing them. I eye both of them shiftily. Trowa doesn’t look particularly concerned about anything, and Yuy might as well BE the wall he’s leaning against.

 

Hmm, now what exactly is the best way to go about this? I think gentle but firm. I stop slouching on the pole and stand up straight abruptly. “I’m hungry,” I announce to the air in the general area. Well, Trowa might have blinked.

 

A commercial comes on the TV, a spot for some kind of movie. My ears latch onto the song that starts playing. Nice.

 

_Oh yeah!_

_Oh yeah!_

_Oh yeah!_

At the continuing lack of response from anyone about my state of being, I shrug and saunter off toward a café on the other side of the square.

 

_Hello again friend of a friend I knew you when our common goal was waitin’ for the world to end_

 

I don’t even make it halfway. The crowd has just closed behind me enough where I can’t see Trowa and Heero anymore when the screams start. They’re coming back from where I left Trowa and Heero. I try and catch a glimpse but being a shrimp, all that happens is I get elbowed. Yeah, I really hate being short. The screams are getting louder and then there is chaos in the crowd. Those who do want to know what’s going on are rushing toward the screaming, and those that already know or don’t want to know are rushing just as hard in the opposite direction.

 

And then suddenly, everybody’s screaming. I’m fighting really hard not to get trampled here. Damnit, this SUCKS. I knew we should have just packed up and left. But _no_ , we had to come check it out.  I get shunted and jerked from side to side, but all that happens is I wind up stuck somehow in the middle of the square. The tone of the screams change from fear to pain. Well, that can’t be good. The direction of the crowd changes and now there IS no direction. There is however, one common goal, everyone wants OUT. They’re running every which way, but it’s always out. Now that the people are thinning, I can see the spot where I left Heero and Trowa and they’re not there. Of course. Great. Me and my damn stomach.

 

Well, I tell my stomach, this is the hell in a hand basket scenario I was just warning you about. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m still hungry. I glance up at the TV looming over the square, and the telecaster’s mouth is moving a mile a minute. Unfortunately, I can’t hear a word he’s saying. Then the screen goes blue and no lie, the words, “STAND BY,” flash on and off the screen. God is just such an ironic bastard. I look back at the spot and is that a _jacket_? And wonder of wonders, I catch Trowa and Heero against the window of a shop further down out of the corner of my eye. They are both up against the wall in combat positions, and both of them have drawn their guns.

 

Oh. Well. Shit. I knew I should have brought my gun. No one could ever hate or love me as much as I both hate and love myself. Because, let me tell you, Trowa does not draw a gun unless he NEEDS it. So, therefore, if HE needs it, I need it. Badly. I slide my combat knife out from under my shirt and crouch down. The square is emptying out and I scan the area, trying to see what the fuck is going on around here. I think I see a pool of blood on the far side of the square and then from behind me I hear a—a wail of pain. It’s the wail of someone who is dying in extreme pain and doesn’t believe it and can’t understand it. I haven’t heard a cry like that since I was twelve. I try and see but can’t pick out what’s happening through the madness of people running and screaming every which way. It’s all happening too fast.

 

A flash of color catches my eyes and I see a man in a red shirt, uncoordinated and with a vacant snarl on his face (how you can be vacant and snarling at the same time I do not know but there it is) as he latches onto a woman that runs by him. I watch in a kind of dreamy fascination as she tries to twist free, saying ‘no, no’ in a hysterical gasp and then I have trouble processing the next few moments, because the man in the red shirt opens his mouth so wide I would swear his jaw would have to crack and lunges in for the woman’s throat. With his teeth he rips out her jugular in a spray of blood and they both collapse to the ground. She in the twitching of her death throes and he apparently to rip more chunks out of her flesh and…eat them. I tear my eyes away and see more of these _infected_ pour in and converge on anyone hapless enough to be caught. They rip and tear and bear them to the ground to… _feast_. This isn’t happening. Right? This is the fucking real world with Gundams and OZ and not those movies that Quatre tells me to stop watching.

 

A meaty hand clamps down on my shoulder and I whip myself around to stare up into the face of a man so large and beefy, they must have fed him cinderblocks—when he was alive. Because he isn’t alive now. His heart is missing from his chest. This has not stopped him from walking, grabbing me, or gaping his mouth wide open to take a chunk clean right out of me.

 

For the first time ever, Shinigami activates without my express sanction. My free arm snatches my combat knife from my pinioned right hand and slams it up into his jaw. Blood that isn’t coagulated, but isn’t flowing freely either; not crimson or black but a sick in between color starts to run down the blade and along my hand. The man’s body freezes, and then goes limp. The grip he has on me loosens and then as he falls down and away from me, slips off. I wrench my knife free in a spray of gore and his body hits the ground.

 

Time and thought return to me, though I hadn’t before noticed that they’d ever departed. I smack Shinigami aside. I’ll deal with you later I promise him. Who knows what the fuck I mean by that? Anyone? Who knows what the fuck is this shit that is going on? Anyone? Well holding the center of the square by myself isn’t going to get anybody anywhere. I charge off over to Heero and Trowa. I crouch down right next to Heero’s feet. “What’s our plan?!” I yell.

 

“Help the civilians. Contain the threat. Stay together.” With those great words of wisdom, Heero opens fire on the infected, and Trowa follows suit. Why am I the only fail Gundam Pilot who didn’t bring his gun?! I really wish today had been the day when I decided to stop screwing myself over. When Heero notices it, he’s just going to shoot me on principal.

 

“02.”

 

Shit. Death is coming. Heero has noticed. I cringe and look up at him. A darkly-colored metal object falls from above. Out of reflex I snag it. A gun! Now we’re in business. I just have this sinking feeling that Heero is never going to let me forget this moment, and definitely not in a good way. I turn my head toward the chaos and try and get a bead on a target and some control over myself, reviewing Heero’s orders in my head. Apparently that means there’s no cure for the infected (my own experience notwithstanding), because cold, variable eliminating little bastard or not, Heero does not endanger or shoot civilians (except for that time when he tried to shoot Relena but she had that coming and who was that who stopped him again? I didn’t _know_ how could I have known she was what she was?)

 

As I point and shoot it’s a lot easier than I thought something like this would be. I think my soul should be in danger. I’m not supposed to LIKE killing, shooting innocent people for Christ’s sake, but somehow it’s just impossible to think of them as people. They’re just not there. Wait a minute. I remember the man who grabbed me. He was a literal walking dead person who was going to eat me. Now wait just a Goddamn minute. What the FUCK? You’ve got to be kidding me. No freaking way. I can’t be positive, but I think I’m shooting _zombies_. No WAY. Heero! Y U NO include crucial information? AD Mutation = Zombies is kind of a mission-specific detail ISN’T IT!? Especially since I almost got fucking _eaten_ over there!

 

Well that whole line of thinking now has its own pile of STILL walking scientific evidence. Shooting does not appear to work on these _things_ , which I find to be a very BAD sign btw. Aim and fire, they fall down, shoot two more, and the first is back up again. I don’t know about Heero and Trowa, but I just don’t have the ammo for this. My brain nags at me. Back off Shinigami! You’re still in fucking time out. My brain still nags. Wait. Gigantor. He didn’t get back up right? I scan the ground for him and sure enough there he be, right where I left him, dead (this time) as a doornail. I experiment, and pick out a college-aged guy in a tracksuit whose left arm appears to have been eaten down to bone, weaving his way towards me, mouth working open and closed.

 

One shot, head. I watch for as much time as I can afford. He doesn’t appear to be getting back up. “Heads up!” I shout.

 

Heero spares a half-second glance to snarl at me, “What?!”

 

“No, literally, go for head shots, it keeps them down!” I can only imagine the look he gives me before he and Trowa take my advice. Finally some of these guys are going down, and STAYING down. But there are more and more pouring in. Why are these infected so much faster than lab coat guy? Some kind of transmission vector? A different strain? Does it matter? Now Shinigami NEEDS out, and I need to let him out or that fucker might just take over again and wasn’t _that_ a dangerous precedent? There really aren’t any— _humans_ —left anyway. Every person left is dead and eating, dead and being eaten or dead and STILL getting back up to eat. I release my mind, and see the world through darker eyes. Full area sweep. Situation is probably critical. I need a way out. I look up. I think, I calculate, and then I smile Shinigami’s smile. I stand up, grab Trowa and pull him back with my right hand while I fire at support cables of the huge advertising sign above us. I shove Trowa in the direction I want us running, and then take out the TV, which isn’t of use to anyone anymore anyway, and then aim carefully at a hot dog cart I wish I’d seen earlier when I was scoping for food. 

 

The billboard starts falling, the TV blasts into a million pieces, the propane in the hot dog stand ignites and explodes creating a chain reaction with some parked and still running vehicles, and the whole square descends into hell. I pivot on my heel and take off after Trowa, grabbing at Heero, who is still stubbornly shooting infected as I pass by. We hightail it down an alleyway and into a back maze of streets as the city square explodes into light, fire and shrapnel behind us. Shinigami likes pretty explosions.

 

We run as a unit following Heero’s lead in a maze of side streets until the sounds are distant behind us. We finally stop in an alley looking out onto a main street. I smack Shinigami hard and shove him down. Gritting my teeth against the resistance, I turn and observe Heero and Trowa. Heero is stoically checking his ammo and his gun’s status while Trowa is nonchalantly checking out the main street, the rooftops, behind us, and just generally guarding. I swear, ONLY Trowa can pull that one off. Wufei looks all evil and predator-like when he guards, Quatre gets so tense you can SEE him coiled like a wire, Heero gets even more serious than usual and then there’s that MEAN-ass look, and me, well…yeah, I’m just über-twitchy. And I look like it too. I shift positions, I bounce, I pace, exemplary status of what not to do while you’re guarding. Trowa though, just manages to look like he’s looking everywhere at once by accident, completely unconcerned, even when a threat does appear. There is so much envy I dare not even voice it.

 

So now what? Now what are we going to do, because this situation just _sucks_. Heero’s still the lead in this little op, because if it was up to me, there wouldn’t even BE an op and Trowa doesn’t really do to well with the whole, ‘include your team members in on your plan of action’ thing, so I sit back on my heels and wait for Heero to, you know, _include_. He finally finishes fiddling with his gun and ammo and whatever else he lugs around with him and his spandex and tank top IN WINTER, and looks up at Trowa (more intelligently garbed in his customary turtleneck), where they commence in that whole ‘communication through significant looks through the eyes’ thing. Peachy. I’m only so great at doing that. Trowa blinks and goes back to looking around, or guarding, or whatever he calls it. Heero turns his basilisk gaze on me. I give him a flat stare that I WANT to say, ‘dude, I have NO idea what your freaking EYES are saying.’ He stares at me a minute more, and then locks his gun into place. He then proceeds to toss me a few clips of ammo. Hot damn!

 

“General area sweep. Diamond pattern, south, southeast. Objective is the safe house. 02, right flank. 03, left flank. I’m point. Diamond distances no more than three streets at any time.” Heero moves up to the edge of the alleyway on the right side. Woo-hoo! Verbal communication! I know what we’re doing! I move to Heero’s left, and Trowa moves into place on his right. Heero sweeps the street with his laser eyes. No, he really does have laser eyes! I swear! He nods once and he and Trowa take off in their directions in a smooth combat run. Me? I can manage a combat skitter, so that’s what I do, I skitter over to my designated area and run the streets. Every once in a while I catch a glimpse of Heero ahead of me to the right, and even more rarely, Trowa on the same street I am, but other than that, I appear to be alone. Guess whatever it is that’s taking us all to hell hasn’t made it this far yet. I’m willing to bet everybody’s inside with doors locked and shotguns cocked though. Lookie, I made a rhyme! I so wonderful.

 

I hear a gunshot somewhere ahead of me. Shit. That must be Yuy. Looks like we’re headed back into it. I focus on my route. Three streets more and we run into a sectioned-off quarter of the city. Fuck. Annnnd that would be the quickest way back to the apartment. And the safest. Damnit. The blockade is well-prepared and they’re not letting anybody through. Not women, not families, not even babies. Well, they must not be OZ (not that OZ lets out babies), because OZ would have some means of identifying the infection. Presumably.

 

We gather back a little ways down another alley. Heero studies the situation some more and turns to Trowa. He starts to say something, but I’m suddenly distracted by the roof behind us. I thought I saw—I frown. I think there was something there. But then again, I can’t be positive. I didn’t SEE it, not technically and peripherals do lie, and honestly my brain isn’t the most reliable of assets right now (or…ever.) Something jerks on my sleeve. I twist and aim without thinking. FUCK! I’m aiming at Heero. I swing the gun away and try to relax but I can’t really think of anything relaxing. I hope Heero doesn’t take that personally. I glance at him.

 

“I was calling your name. You didn’t respond. What—” He pauses carefully here and regards me neutrally. “Did you see something?”

 

I open my mouth, then sigh. I can’t be positive, and under the circumstances it’s a 50/50. But if there was anything there, it’s gone now. I shake my head and say, “It was nothing.”

 

Heero continues looking at me and I haven’t a clue as to what THAT expression is. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says abruptly. I gape at him. What? OH! He thinks I’m going off the deep end because I was the one who blew up the base! Okay, so I’ll admit that has been bothering me, (so maybe I’m concerned I might be repressing, but let’s repress that too. I’m good at that).

 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I shove it all aside, the feeling that might be guilt, the things that bring up the past and hit too close to home, the _one fucking hour_ of sleep (I do bitterness really well, you may have noticed), emotion, fear, anger; I shove it all away. When I open my eyes, I am calm, and focused. “Heero. What’s Trowa doing?” While my brain and I were floating in limbo somewhere, Trowa has disappeared.

 

He continues looking at me, and then, (miracle of miracles), we have a communication of the eyes thing that I actually understand. I’m saying, ‘I’m not breaking Heero, and I don’t plan on breaking any time soon.’ He’s acknowledging my message, and understanding that I am fully capable and do not need a babysitter. Or something close to that. Then he drops that whole meaningful conversation we just had (okay so like, three words doesn’t actually count, but still) and replies. (DAMN!! Eye communication comprehension is LOST!) “He’s getting intel on our options.” Okay. I think that translates to, ‘he’s checking out the blockade so we can find the best point to break through.’ I peek out of the alleyway. No sign of Trowa. He’s the freaking invisible man. Poor bastards won’t even remember that they’ve told him classified operation info.

 

I glance back at Heero, who for some reason is still watching me. What is the best way to assure him of my continuing sanity? Ah yes. “Say Heero, that sure is a spiffy looking jacket, where did you—” I break off as Trowa reappears.

 

“We’re not getting through here, and the wave of infection is headed this way. Sector B-17 radioed in. They’re losing ground. If we get there before the reinforcements, we’ll have a shot at it.”

 

Heero nods and I glance back the way we came. Shit. B-17? Straight back into it. “Perimeter status?”

 

“They’re still letting people out, but the moment any part of the blockade breaks,” Trowa warns.

 

Heero nods again. “Move out. Circle sweep. No more than two streets at any time.” We move out (I can’t help my last lingering look at the roof) and head back the way we came, rotating point position every few streets.

 

Suddenly I understand why Heero had me come along instead of Wufei, who, you know, actually wanted to be there. Wufei’s never been trained to work in a small strike team. And certainly, neither has Quatre. Army of Quatre-loving followers notwithstanding. I, however, have mad strike team skillz via extensive Sweeper training. Oh yeah. I rock. Heero must have known this. I bet he did such an extensive background check on all of us, he knows stuff that God himself doesn’t know. …Am I comfortable with Heero Yuy knowing what I dream about at night?

 

  _Stop loosing focus, soldier._

 

There I go, trying to slide away from facing the painful reality. There is a plague. It is my fault. People will die, are dying; dead. Focus on the here and now so you and your teammates and the hope of the colonies don’t share their fate.

 

We work the streets in a closer pattern this time; Heero and Trowa are almost always in my line of sight. As we move further back the way we came the silence slowly disappears. There’s a muffled roar steadily growing louder. The roar of fires burning, people yelling, guns firing, things breaking. It’s the sound of war. It’s the sound of hell. And then suddenly we’re not alone anymore. There is a wave of people appearing so suddenly and completely it was like we were moving through them all along. It’s the first wave of war. Those that are fleeing. The refugees. Those people who might survive. On my next sweep around I notice Heero give the close in signal. We circle in and Heero gestures again. Right. Black Ops sweep. Heero as the front guard. I take the middle, the side guard, and Trowa picks up the rear guard.

 

The sounds of battle are clearer now, individual explosions and screams are more and more frequent, and nearer and nearer. Then we’re hit by the second wave of war. The remnants. The wounded. The defeated. Most of these people are already dead. They just don’t know it yet. These are the ones who fought, who resisted. Or maybe they took too long with the packing. Maybe they couldn’t find that one crucial member of the family unit. War doesn’t care. God doesn’t care. Death doesn’t care. All three will kill them regardless.

 

That leaves only the third wave of war. The desperate. The dead. And the fighting. And of course, the enemy chasing the first two waves down. Heero signals again and we pull up behind some rubble and a burning tire. Which, needless to say, smells truly, truly nasty. What, like there aren’t any OTHER rubble piles lining the street we could hide behind? Heero Yuy may be able to shut down his olfactory senses but the rest of us mere mortals are not so lucky. Trowa says softly, “Next street over.” A woman screams; a death shriek somewhere behind us and I jerk around, bringing my gun up to bear on…nothing. Just a few stragglers. I frown. I could have sworn—

 

“02.” I twist back around to face Heero. “What is it?”

 

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

 

An explosion rocks the street and there are the sounds of loud, somewhat smaller explosions following. Heavy artillery fire.

Heero speaks. “Keep formation. Stay low. On my lead.” Trowa shifts. Heero looks at me and suddenly I realize where that damn jacket came from. I open my mouth, then (a rarity believe you me) think better of it and nod grimly. Then I give the best grin I can under the circumstances. Not quite Shinigami, but getting there.

 

“Zombie time,” I whisper sweetly. Heero gives the street a swift once-over (like number 75 of what will probably be a hundred) and then we move.

 

We hit the blockade from the side, flanking the rapid response team that’s holding the line and I let Shinigami take over. I don’t kid myself. I can handle it sure, but I’m less than 100% right now. I’m not quite sure I trust my brain. I keep a close eye on him though, wouldn’t want him to leave my partners for dead.

 

It happens in a flash. Fires burning, smoke everywhere, bullets flying, people yelling, screaming, dying…being eaten…rising again. Figures, blurry in the haze, yet clearly defined through Shinigami’s dark eyes. Ducking, weaving, following 01. Anytime someone approaches me, they take a shot to the head. Infected? Police? Soldiers? Innocents…? Does it matter? Shinigami takes no prisoners. Duo would have taken a few extra tenths of a second to evaluate, but in the end what does it matter? Everyone dies. Left, dodge, pause and then we break through and we’re behind the lines. I spare a glance behind. 03 remains in place. All team members have made it through. 01 moves off into a ruined structure. Shinigami frowns. And then I kick him out and stumble slightly as I enter what was once a clothing store. Heero lightly catches my arm and steadies me. He’s doing that evaluation thing again. Probably he expected to see dark, violent eyes. What does he think since all he sees are my own? I grin internally. Heh. If you want to unravel _that_ particular Duo-mystery, you’ll have to be a lot sneakier than that.

 

We silently check each other’s status. There’s a small cut on Trowa’s cheek, blood already dried. Somewhere in all that I caught the bad end of an explosion and there’s a burn on my arm. Heero (now THERE’S a big surprise) is untouched. The only time I’ve ever seen him injured is when he does it to himself. Only his own actions result in injury, I’ve yet to see anyone else touch him. Okay, wait, so there was that time I shot him. Twice. Heh. Go me! Heero finishes checking his weapons status, and raises his piercing glare. “Move out.”

 

We head out into the gloom. When did it get so dark? It’s full on dusk now. We keep the black ops formation and ghost out of the red zone. Frequently we have to detour, avoiding strike teams and the occasional OZ detachment. When did OZ get here? Shit. If the big boys are coming in, we are seriously running out of time. We have to get out of the city BEFORE they set up their checkpoints, because no way will we all make it through. Night falls, and it is truly eerie. Only distant explosions and the occasional cry in the dark can be heard. We stop off in an alley dimly lit by a bluish purple neon sign and a failing yellow streetlight at the end.

 

We can’t be more than a few blocks away. Heero and Trowa do the ESP thing and Heero flicks his fingers almost imperceptibly in the dim light. Trowa moves off to the street lamp, scouting ahead. In a sudden flash of insight I realize that Heero wants him to look for a mode of transportation! Go me! I suddenly have hope for my continued terrorist status. YES! He can be taught! Just me and Bonbon, holding down the fort. What to say what to say— _oh yeah_!

 

I sidle up to Heero and say sweetly, “Y’know Bonbon, if you want me that bad all you have to do is ask.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively. Heero blinks. Well, I may be making progress on the non-verbal communication front, but Heero at least has some serious catching up to do on the whole ‘Duo body language’ front. “My jacket, babe. Any particular reason you’re sporting the Duo Maxwell Fall Collection?” Heero opens his mouth and then closes it. I have to stop myself from gaping. Does that—is that—HEERO? Looking uncomfortable?! No _way_. I grin evilly and open my mouth to press my advantage.

 

The attack comes with a swiftness and violence that isn’t human. I sense it, coming out of the dark at the end of the ally. I turn and get off a shot, and then it hits me. I get an impression of decay and large claws, a presence I’d been feeling in the back of my mind since that alley. I stumble back but it’s right on top of me, snarling clawing. I hear more shots but they’re not from me because I’m no longer holding my gun. Great. It wasn’t even my gun. That was Heero’s gun. And I’ve gone and lost it. There goes my advantage. I have no sense of time. Is the world spinning slower or faster? I know I’m fighting. Kicking, biting, yelling. Then suddenly I’m lifted up bodily and thrown. I see a brick wall coming closer. And as time seems to slow down and speed up simultaneously, I _know_. Fuck, this is it. I’m hitting at the WAY wrong angle. I’m going to break my freaking neck and die. I’m going to die a virgin. I’m just going to die. Please God not like this! I have time for an agonizing sense of regret, and for some reason I see Heero’s face, followed by a longing even more painful than the regret but then it’s too late for anything. I hit the wall and I feel numb and light and floaty and fading, out of the light, and into the darkness. 


End file.
